


Sterile Needles for Adrenaline Junkies

by lordelannette



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Biker Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Breaking the Law, Gang Member Steve Rogers, M/M, Mystery, POV Multiple, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Top Steve Rogers, doctor bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26889169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordelannette/pseuds/lordelannette
Summary: The Avengers are an outlaw motorcycle gang run by Alexander Pierce, a notoriously ruthless leader who works them into high stakes criminal activity.Steve Rogers is one of the forefront members, set to become the next leader, but his life abruptly changes when fate lands him in the hands of a young doctor named Bucky Barnes.(AU - biker!gang!Steve / doctor!Bucky)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 130
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Please Read**
> 
> This story is NOT mine. This story is originally titled 'Ride Or Die' written by olivieblake and was created to be a Harry Potter fic. I have received permission from her to use her story and adapt it into a Stucky piece.

“This is fucking insane,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Fury never had us do shit like this.” 

“Relax,” Steve told him, looking up as a car drove by. Not them. Just as the past eight cars have not been them. “Fury didn’t exactly pay out, either.” He kicked out one foot, crossing it over the other. “Besides, if there’s no risk, there’s no reward.” 

“I’m not going to fucking relax,” Sam countered roughly, raking a hand over his head. The large falcon tattooed across his biceps flapped its wings as he flexed, the even starker  _ ‘A’  _ shown for the whole entire world to see. “This is bullshit, Steve. Who the fuck are we meeting?” 

“Sam,” Steve warned, giving him a cautionary glance. It went unnoticed. 

“Pierce is a lunatic,” Sam continued, scowling as he rolled his eyes. Sam was never the type to back down so easily. “Fucking guns and shit - this is not our way of doing this shit,” he growled, slamming his hand on the trunk of old Escalade they rarely used. “I didn’t fucking sign up to die today.” 

After a week, it was becoming a tired argument.

"Sam," Steve repeated coolly, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun, "shut up."

Sam grunted his opposition to this idea, but as expected, he did as he was told. Hierarchy demanded it.

Besides, Steve was right.

"There," Steve said, jutting his chin out to point at the approaching car; it was a flashy BMW that looked more than a little out of place pulling behind the warehouse. "Assholes," he added under his breath, shaking his head. "Incognito apparently doesn't mean what it used to."

Sam said nothing, swallowing uneasily as the front passenger got out of the car, taking a wary look around before strutting towards them. The man, large-set and tall, was thoroughly built and fully overdressed, clad in a dark suit and even darker sunglasses. He offered them both a stiff nod, his black hair slicked back from his face.

"Rogers?" he called gruffly, glancing between Steve and Sam.

"Me," Steve replied, stepping forward. "Rollins?"

"Call me Jack," the other man confirmed, bearing his teeth as he smiled. "My associate," he added, gesturing to the two heavily muscled men behind him. "Rumlow.”

"Pleasure," Steve offered smoothly, then tilted his head, nodding to Sam. "This is Wilson."

Rollins considered him a moment, eyes narrowed; Steve refused to back down, staring back until the other man suddenly laughed, clapping his hands together in a bewildering, wholly incongruous expression of delight. "So." He raised a hand, beckoning with one hand. "Show me what Pierce has for me."

Steve nodded expectantly at Sam, who popped open the trunk.

"Take a look," Steve invited, stepping aside. "Sample only. Full shipment in a week, if you're interested."

"Naturally," Rollins agreed, grinning wolfishly again. He sifted through the trunk's contents and picked up the M16, peering over the barrel.

"Hey, man," Sam muttered uneasily, garnering a disapproving glance from both Rollins and Rumlow. "Maybe don't wave that shit around."

Rollins eyed him. "This shit hot?" he asked suspiciously, turning to Steve. "This one looks scared," he added mockingly, using the rifle to gesture to Sam’s stiff-shouldered form.

"That's just his face," Steve supplied, glaring at Sam the instant Rollins turned back to the trunk. It was harder now to keep his cool; it hadn't occurred to him to ask Pierce if the guns they were selling happened to be stolen.

Sam was right. Fury never had them do shit like this.

He should've asked.

Rollins looked up, gesturing for his companion. They crowded around, and Sam slowly inched towards Steve.

"This doesn't look good," Sam whispered.

"I fucking know that," Steve hissed. "Just calm down."

Sam’s frown deepened. "Maybe we should get them to move," he suggested, gesturing to where Rollins and Rumlow stood, blocking his motions from sight. "I don't like this."

"Sure, Sam, let’s just fucking ask nicely," Steve muttered sarcastically, imitating him. "Please be so kind as to show us your goddamn hands - "

"Hey," Rollins grunted brusquely, turning. He now held a pistol and was eyeing it closely; too closely, Steve thought, hearing the telling clicks from the other side of him as Rumlow drew his weapon. "You got rules on sampling the merchandise?"

Steve swallowed, trying to remain calm. "Could grab some targets," he offered, feigning ignorance. "Nothing if not hospitable," he added, reaching slowly for the Glock tucked into his waistband.

"Don't fucking move," Rumlow muttered ominously, his eyes flicking to Steve’s hand. "We already know these guns work."

"Love a knowledgeable customer," Sam offered weakly; Steve shot him a silencing glare.  _ Not  _ helpful.

"Ask us how we know," Rollins suggested, beckoning to them with an unsettlingly assured condescension. "Go on," he taunted. "Ask."

_ Fuck _ , Steve thought, searching for a way out of what was a rapidly deteriorating situation and coming up thoroughly empty-handed. Fuck, fuck, fuck-- "How do you know?" he finally gritted out, bereft of options and struggling to breathe.

Rollins aimed the Beretta at him, his smile turning crooked. "These guns are fucking stolen," he remarked flatly, and Steve’s stomach lurched. "Tell Pierce we want his head," Rollins added with a laugh, right before he pulled the trigger.

* * *

_ One Week Earlier _

* * *

Steve Rogers woke up slowly, the haze of the previous night's gathering into misbehavior gradually clearing as he lifted his head, squinting at the head of blonde hair beside him.

"Shar," he muttered, nudging her. "Get up."

She groaned, rubbing sleep and several layers of smeared mascara from her eyes. "Come on, Steve - "

"You know the deal," he said, kicking the bedding away from him and standing to pull on a shirt. "You weren't supposed to stay here last night. Or any night," he added, giving her a look.

She made a face. "Such bullshit, Steve," she said, emitting a loud squeak of protest as he reached over, tossing the comforter away from her and into a pile of tangled sheets at the foot of the bed. "You don't have to be such a fucking dick - "

"Last night was a mistake," he interrupted, and she smirked.

"Both times?" she asked, reaching for him. He was not overly pleased to note that she was still naked from the night before. "Come on, babe - "

"Don't 'babe' me," he said gruffly, shoving her hands away as she reached for the band of his boxer briefs. "This is exactly what I said can't fucking happen again, Sharon."

"What's the big deal?" she protested, tugging him by the collar. "Come on," she purred, sliding her hands under his shirt to run them over the line of quotes tattooed on his chest, right over his collarbone. "We could be good together, Steve - you know we could - "

"We already fucking tried this," he reminded her with a sigh, fighting to ignore the twitch of his cock as she let her fingers trace the crevices of his abs. "It didn't work."

"Mmm, are you sure?" she asked, lifting his shirt and tearing it over his head, peeling it from the tattooed slopes of his arms as he sighed. "I'm not a free fuck, Steve - "

"And this is your way of proving it?" he countered, closing his eyes as she kissed his neck, dipping her hand into his underwear and giving his cock a languid stroke. "Not entirely convincing."

"I'm just saying," she said, bringing herself to the edge of the bed so that she was nearly at eye level with his cock, "that I think you might find I'm worth more than the occasional lay."

"Bold," he murmured, his breath escaping in a low hiss as she leaned in, letting her tongue drift over his tip. "Let me guess," he ventured, tangling his fingers in her dark hair as she glanced up, making a show of trailing her tongue along his shaft. "You need money?"

She drew back, huffing in insult. "I'm not a fucking prostitute, Steve - "

"What, then?" he asked, raising a single brow as she scowled at him. "Pretty sure you know I'm not settling down with you anytime soon."

She sighed, licking her lips before letting her eyes settle again on his cock. "Would it really be so bad," she offered softly, dipping to circle his tip with her tongue before glancing up at him, "having me around all the time?"

"It's" - he broke off, swallowing as she took his full length in her mouth - "more complicated than that."

"Is it?" she prompted, her eyes wide as she reached down, wrapping her fist around his shaft and slowly letting her hand slide along his length. "Seems pretty simple to me," she remarked, taking him in her mouth again.

"Sharon," he began, but her name dissolved into a growl; his fingers tightened in her hair as she wrapped her lips around his cock, expertly flicking her tongue beneath the underside of his tip.

There was no going anywhere with this, he knew; but as with the previous night, her determination to suck him off was far more compelling than his desire to kick her out. He adjusted his stance, kicking his legs apart and closing his eyes, and had just reached down to grab her head when he heard his front door suddenly burst open, the sound of heavy footsteps falling inside his apartment.

"Steve," he heard Sam call, "get your ass out here."

_ Fuck _ , Steve thought, pushing Sharon away and tucking his dick back into his underwear as Sam suddenly burst in the doorway, prompting Sharon duck beneath the blankets.

"Morning," Steve said, offering him a lazy salute, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Get dressed," he said, unfazed by Steve’s partial state of dress. "Pierce is looking for us."

"So he called  _ you _ ?" Steve repeated, confused. "Why not me?"

Sam shrugged. "Said he tried reaching you," he offered, his eyes traveling mockingly to where Sharon had pulled the twisted sheet up over her breasts. "I'd guess you were otherwise occupied," he ventured mockingly, gesturing to the thong that hung from the corner of Steve’s dresser.

"A bit," Steve agreed, adjusting himself as discreetly as he could. "But I can be ready in five." He glanced at Sharon, who was looking at him eagerly. “Actually, I can be ready now.” 

He did his best to ignore her and Sam chuckled as Steve made quick haste to find some jeans, sliding them on as fast as he could. Sam waltzed right back out the room without sparing either of them another glance. Perfect, because that gave Steve the excuse of hurrying up that much faster. “I’d apologize,” he said with a shrug, “but I’d only be wasting my breath.” 

Sharon rolled her eyes. “God, you’re such as ass.”

“Yet, you keep bothering me,” he huffed as he slid his belt on before stuffing his feet in his boots. “I’d say it was nice seeing you, but we both know that’d be a lie.”

Instead of saying anything in return, surprisingly, Sharon only stuck her middle fingers up in the air right at him. 

“I take it you can see yourself out,” he said, sliding his wallet, keys, phones, and everything else important into their appropriate pockets, then grabbing for his gun last and tucking it into his waistband. “Do us both a favor and not be here when I get back.” 

With that, he turned on his heel and followed after Sam.

***

"Thought you were done fucking old flames," Sam commented offhandedly, propping open the door of his big ass Ford truck.

"Old habits," Steve said, shrugging. "She resurfaces every now and then."

"Suppose it could be worse," Sam permitted with a smirk.

"You've certainly done worse," Steve assured him.

Sam sighed dramatically. "I get the clingy types and you get the bat-shit crazy ones. Or, in Carter’s case, both. Besides, I thought you wanted to try your luck with a guy again," he said curiously, nudging Steve in the ribs.

"Yeah, I did. I do,” Steve said instantly. “But it’s not like I have a lot of options unless I want to go for the crack-head always on 5th corner.”

“Or, y’know, you could go for someone normal? Test out the waters… a person away from this kinda life,” Sam said slowly, hesitant. 

Steve let out a sad laugh. “Oh, yeah. And drag some innocent person into this line of work? Yeah… hard pass.” 

Sam opened his mouth as if to say something more, but Nat, Clint, and Thor walked into the room. Nat raised a sharp brow, looking up and down the both of them. “About time you two showed up. Pierce has been waiting. Also, the news for Coulson’s surgery came in. Went to go see him this morning. He’s still sneaking in cigarettes, too, so I have to assume he wants a second go.” 

Steve nodded, taking in the news, before they walked inside in silence, striding purposefully through the familiar double doors.

"Steven," Pierce said smoothly, nudging his greying hair back. "And Samuel, excellent. Sit."

They did as they were told, Steve settling himself next to Pierce as Sam crossed the room, seating himself across the table as did the others. They created a stunning contrast in the room, Steve thought, imagining how the six of them might have looked to an outsider. Some of them, like Steve, were used for muscle and power, while others were used for stealth and surveillance. Then at the head of them all sat Pierce. He looked oddly elegant in the dim lighting of the room, with his three piece suit and fancy crystal glass of whiskey beside his hand. But he was undeniably the most powerful man in town, an achievement he received only once Fury had been taken out of action. 

Steve leaned forward, quietly drumming his tattooed knuckles across the table as he waited for the silence to be broken. 

"As you know," Pierce began, glancing between them all, "things have been somewhat... chaotic since Fury passed."

They all nodded.

"Things are . . . somewhat precarious," Pierce continued. "Financially. Which," he added, "has prompted the need for a certain level of creativity on our part."

"Something other than auto repair and casual anarchy, I'm guessing," Clint commented, and Pierce, who had never appreciated Clint’s particular brand of candidness, glanced at him impatiently.

"A bit more than that," he sniffed testily in agreement, glancing at Steve. "I've had to look into other sources of income," Pierce explained, the smooth timbre of his voice resonating within the dark walls of the room. "Luckily, we're a group of many talents and capabilities," he added, giving Steve a tiny nod of approval. "Some of which include the particular . . . persuasiveness that I think will aid us in our business ventures."

"Persuasiveness," Steve commented. " _ Us _ ?"

"You," Pierce confirmed briskly. "Unless you have reason to believe I'm mistaken."

The praise, which was a rarity - and one that had come sparingly from Fury- struck a particularly pleasing chord in Steve. "You're not," he said confidently, and Pierce nodded his approval.

"I rarely am," Pierce agreed.

_ Right _ , Steve thought with a smirk. Of course not.

"I need to set you two up on a project," Pierce continued, his rings and watch flashing as he looked at them. "An enticement for a potential future client."

"Sounds fancy," Sam remarked drily. "Who is it?"

"Hydra," Pierce replied, though he quickly refocused his attention on Steve. "I've been working on making a connection with the group. They’re - " Pierce paused, dragging his tongue slowly across his lip, "an entrepreneur, one might say."

Steve stifled a laugh. "Entrepreneur?" he echoed skeptically. "Are we selling him parts? Vehicles? Or machinery?"

There was a pause. That's a no, then, Steve gathered, waiting.

"Well," Pierce offered silkily, "we all traffic in our particular varieties of commerce."

"Drugs?" Steve prompted alternatively, lifting one brow. Across the table, Sam shot him a frantic glance, shaking his head subtly in warning.

"Oh, Steven," Pierce said with a laugh. "Surely you'd prefer the details be left to me."

Actually, he would rather fucking not, Steve wanted to say, but the visible tightening of Pierce’s fingers around the arm of his chair served sufficient to stop his tongue.

"I'll need you to meet with some of their members at some point in the future," Pierce continued. "I've got some things to pull together before then, but I need to make sure you'll be ready when the time comes." His blue eyes fixed intently on Steve’s. "Are we clear?"

"Sounds important," Steve remarked wryly. "Anything more I should know about?"

Pierce considered him a moment before answering. "Steven," he finally said, tsking softly, "do you really think I wouldn't give you all the information you needed?"

At the telling non-answer, Steve exchanged a glance with Sam, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Just being clear," Steve offered smoothly. "You want us to meet with Hydra," he clarified, "and then - ?"

"Meet them," Nat asserted, "win them over, and - "

"Make a loyal customer of them," Pierce finished, rolling a kink out of his neck before refocusing his attention on Steve. "Show them that the future of this group is something worth investing in," he added, offering Steve an unsettlingly omniscient smile.

_ The future of this group _ , Steve thought, finding the idea disquieting. "Do you mean us," he began, looking across the table at Sam, "or the 'product'?"

Pierce shrugged. "One and the same, in the end," he said opaquely, and across the table, Sam made a face.

"This seems like an awful lot of pretense for a bunch of mechanics," Sam commented. Day by day, it seemed like their cover story of being everyday mechanics was getting stretched thinner and thinner. Soon enough someone was going to be knocking down the fucking door. 

"Yes, this is a slightly different venture," Pierce agreed, scarcely sparing Sam a glance. "Fury’s departure has been unpleasant, though not entirely luckless in timing." He looked up, giving Steve another distressing look. "We have to explore a variety of means from whatever opportunities arise. For the good of us," he added, as a hazy afterthought.

"For the good of us," Steve repeated slowly, and around him, the others nodded.

"It's about creating a sustainable source of income for us into the future," Nat said, her tone faintly robotic. "Something to keep us going."

"Again, this sounds like something beyond the sign on the door that says 'Avenger’s Repair,'" Sam interjected brusquely. "What exactly is this mysterious source of income that's so sustainable?"

A brief flash of irritation appeared in Pierce’s eyes, causing Steve a moment of alarm; but just as quickly as it had appeared, it faded, the slow smile creeping back over Pierce’s face.

"Samuel," he broached slowly, his voice oddly hushed. "Hostile today, are we?"

Steve inhaled sharply, hearing something in Pierce’s voice that he couldn't put a finger on; Sam clearly caught it too, his shoulders stiffening to the slightest possible degree.

"I'd hate to think you're somehow displeased with my leadership," Pierce commented, the honeyed tone of his words dripping leisurely from his tongue. "You are committed to the well being of the Avengers, are you not?"

"I am," Sam said loudly, and despite Steve’s silent plea for him to hold his tongue, he continued. "But - "

"I hardly think that you intend to challenge my authority," Pierce prompted with a laugh, and at Sam’s startled hesitation, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Not to worry," Pierce said reassuringly, and then smiled. "Oh, but by the way," he began quietly, as though he'd suddenly remembered something, "how's your mother doing? Still living on Red Wing Street, correct?" he added, eyes flashing. There was a silent breath of pause around the table as Pierce tapped his fingers lightly against the table. 

"Yes," Sam managed, swallowing. "She was going to move, but then - "

"But then she didn’t," Pierce said brightly, snapping his fingers in recollection. "Amazing, isn't it," he murmured, "how things just . . . work themselves out?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, lowering his head.

"I'd hate for things to become . . . difficult for you," Pierce remarked thoughtfully, bringing a hand up to cup his chin. "Truly, I'd hate to see a fellow Avenger in any sort of" - he paused, his eyes flicking first to Steve, and then back to Sam- "pain."

This time, Sam said nothing.

"Well then," Pierce erupted suddenly, slapping a palm against the table before turning back to Steve. "I'm sorry, bit of a tangent," he remarked buoyantly, with a stunning effortlessness, as though no threat had been made. "Did you have any remaining questions?"

Steve, who had been holding his breath, blinked. "I - "

He glanced at Sam’s bent head; met Nat’s warning glance.

"No," he determined faintly, and Pierce nodded his approval.

"Wonderful," Pierce said, his eyes narrowing to slits as he smiled.

***

"Fuck," Sam said, opening the trunk.

"Guns," Steve sighed, shaking his head.

"Guns," Steve agreed, looking sick. He turned, leaning against the open trunk. "Gotta add small-time arms dealer to the resume, I guess."

"Small-time might be an understatement," Steve remarked, sifting through the familiar pistols to reveal a series of military grade assault rifles. "This is some fucking heavy artillery."

"Shit," Sam said, nudging Steve aside to look for himself. "Fuck, Steve. What the fuck are we doing?! "

"It's not that bad," Steve cut in, nudging Sam back and slamming the trunk shut. "All we have to do is get that Rollins guy interested. Easy," he added, with more confidence than he felt. "Just like any other client."

"This isn't just some sales pitch, Steve," Sam sputtered, staring at him in disbelief. "These are fucking guns - "

"We're just selling a product to a client," Steve reminded him. "That's it." He gave Sam a nudge to the ribs, attempting to be soothing. "Just - a transfer of goods, that's all."

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "You were always fucking blessed with compartmentalization," he commented sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's fine," Steve assured him again, rolling his sleeves up to the eagle tattoo that wrapped around his forearm. "What's the worst that could happen?"

He felt a lurch as soon as he said it.

"Famous last words," Steve muttered, as they moved to climb into the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky Barnes stepped in front of his locker and sank back onto the bench, feeling a thorough throb of exhaustion course through him. He’d once thought -- stupidly -- that medical school had been the hardest thing he’d ever done; he’d been so, so tragically wrong. 

“Barnes,” Baron barked from his locker down the row, “you good?” 

“Yeah, fine,” he replied weakly, though in truth, he doubted his legs would hold him much longer. “Long procedure,” he explained unnecessarily. 

“You’re telling me,” Wanda sniffed, materializing beside Baron. “Fascinating, though, wasn’t it?” she prompted, nudging Baron. “Amazing.” 

“I’d have killed to scrub in on that,” Baron agreed, glaring sulkinly at him. “Watch yourself, Barnes,” he added with a wink, and Bucky, despite himself, wondered for a moment whether or not he was capable of following through on that claim. Baron, when he wanted to, could be a scary dude. There was something fairly merciless about Baron Zemo, and Bucky had noticed it right away. Zemo was from Sokovia originally, and he’d worked his way through college and med school in a hungrier -- wolfish -- way than anyone Bucky had ever met. 

“You lucky bitch,” Wanda grumbled at him in agreement, shaking her head. 

Wanda, Bucky knew,  _ was  _ capable of murdering Bucky for a surgery, and could just as easily hide the evidence without a trace. It didn’t matter that her father was a world renowned surgeon, because Wanda Maximoff was a true surgeon all on her own; she would come in steadily, slice out her competition with a scalpel, and then close up the wound and walk away without remorse. 

The Brooklyn Methodist Hospital’s surgical internship was tougher than Bucky could have ever imagined, and it had more than a little to do with the caliber of his competition. He was used to being the smartest, the best in his class -- but so were  _ they _ . He’d never met anyone as intense and relentless as he was until he’d met the other interns, Wanda and Baron included, who generally seemed overjoyed to sacrifice food, sleep, and happiness in order to secure a residency. 

With some exceptions, of course. 

“You going out later?” Baron asked, shoving past some other interns to throw himself down beside Bucky. “You look like you need a drink.” 

“Going out?” Bucky echoed skeptically, glancing between him and Wanda. “You’re kidding.” 

“Social lives are healthy,” Wanda said with a shrug, arriving to stand beside them. “Besides,” she added, “You don’t want us getting into an alliance without you, do you?” 

“You would turn a drink invitation into a threat,” Baron muttered to her, rolling his eyes. “Come on,” he urged, turning to nudge Bucky. “You’ve lived here for six months and haven’t gone anywhere.” 

“Where exactly am I going to go?” Bucky said dubiously, kicking off his shoes. “DOn’t tell me there’s some secret downtown hotspot that I don’t know about.” 

Wanda and Baron exchanged a glance. “He’s not wrong,” Wanda said, and Baron laughed.

“Maybe not, but the Red Room is fun after a long day,” Baron said with a grin. “In its own, unique way. Besides,” he added casually, “you can meet my girlfriend.” 

It would be nice to finally put a face to the name Baron talked about so much, but it would also be nice to strip down to his underwear and sleep in bed until the sun rose up two days later. Tough choice. 

“I’d love to go,” Bucky lied slowly, “but --”

“No buts,” Baron interrupted firmly. “Come on. It’s been long enough.” 

“It really has,” Wanda agreed, leaning in. “People are starting to think you’re the weird one,” she whispered with a laugh.

“Besides yourself, I am the weird one,” Bucky murmured, but Baron shook his head.

“It’s final,” he told him. “You’re coming. You just scrubbed in on the most intense surgery I have ever personally witnessed --” 

“One which, again, we would have killed you for,” Wanda cut in, smiling coolly. 

“-- and you’re going to totally lose your shit soon if you don’t unwind,” Baron concluded. “Which, is fine, of course,” he amended quickly, “seeing as I’d love to get you out of the way for when they choose next year’s residents --”

“We might kill you then, too,” Wanda asserted. 

“-- but for now, I’d rather have you around than what’s-his-face over there,” Baron muttered, gesturing over his shoulder. 

Bucky snuck a glance. “Zola,” he determined, recognizing the back of his head. “Arnim.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Baron said, shrugging. “Him. Like I said,” he repeated, “better to hang out with you than him.” 

Bucky bit on his lip. He glanced at the watch on the wall and counted the hours of sleep he could manage if he were to go home right then and there. After his shower, diner, and maybe a quick video on YouTube, he might actually get double digits. 

“Well, I’m in,” Wanda chirped, and Baron nodded in approval, reaching up from his seat on the bench to thump her firmly on the back.

“Good man, Maximoff,” he said, and then turned to Bucky. “And you’re in, too,” he said, slicing Bucky with a glare as he opened his mouth to protest. “Seriously. I’ll even pick you up.” 

Bucky glanced warily between them, from Wanda’s silkily expectant smirk to Baron’s look of suspended triumph. 

“Fine,” he sighed, and Baron stood, winking at him. 

“Good,” he beamed, grabbing his jacket and standing. “Take a nap. I’ll come get you at nine.” 

“What about me?” Wanda demanded, hands on her hips. 

“You didn’t scrub in today,” Baron said with a laugh. “You can drive yourself.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Wanda said briskly, but then they laughed, chatting as they left the room, and within a matter of minutes, the locker room was quiet. 

Bucky dressed slowly and gathered his things, wandering out of the side entrance of the hospital and towards the fading afternoon light. The last thing he wanted to do was go out tonight -- the thought of drinking made him ill, as did the thought of socializing with strangers -- but Baron was right enough, in his way. If Bucky meant to continue with this program, he’d have to get to know the people around him.  _ They  _ could all balance work with a social life. He’d have to prove that he could, too -- much as he would prefer to sleep. 

He paused outside the hospital, feeling the ache of exhaustion in his bones. The surgery  _ had  _ been monumental -- particularly for a small, specialized hospital like this one -- and it had been an honor to be chosen, but it had been the longest he’d ever performed. At this point, he doubted he even had the energy to drive. 

He leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes.  _ Just five minutes,  _ he told himself,  _ five minutes, and then you can get in your car and -- _

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar loud screech of tires coming to a desperate halt, followed by a door being slammed. It wasn’t an uncommon noise by this point, despite how a normal person might have responded; Bucky, on the other hand, had grown familiar with the sounds of panic and desperation and the corresponding injury that inevitably manifested itself inside the hospital doors -- they were the melodies of his realm. He cracked one eye, wondering where it was coming from. 

“Excuse me,” someone grunted, the male voice low and vaguely intimate. Bucky looked up in alarm, his breath caught by a set of bright blue eyes as a massive man staggered towards him. Behind the man, the car he’d arrived in peeled out as chaotically as it had arrived, racing towards the main street. 

“Um,” he managed, trying to piece together what was happening. The man in front of him was painfully attractive, Bucky realized, his gaze traveling from the man’s eyes, to his soft blond hair, to the beard on his face, and then the muscles that adorned this man from head to toe. The man was a clear foot taller than him. “I--”

Bucky stopped, his glance snagging on the abundant amount of blood seeping from the man’s shoulder. He could see that he was clutching at it and grimacing in pain. “Oh-- oh my god!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. “Come with me,” he determined instantly, shaking himself of his exhaustion and reaching for him. “The ER is right this way, and --”

“No,” the man gritted out, clearly struggling through the injury. His fingers, which had tattoos across his knuckles and a collection of large, dangerous looking rings, tightened around his shoulder. “No, I can’t. I --” he looked around anxiously. “I need you to help me,” he said, his voice still notably low. 

Bucky couldn’t quite work out how the man was managing to be so calm. Injuries like this usually came in with wailing and cursing. “I can’t,” Bucky said breathlessly, blinking at him. “I-- I’m not really a doctor,” he explained hastily. “I’m only an intern --”

“You’re surgery, though, right?” the man asked, his knuckles white as he clutched his shoulders. “Green scrubs,” he explained, gesturing for explanation, and Bucky looked down to check his outfit before kicking himself.  _ God _ , he’s an idiot. 

“I can’t help you,” he repeated apologetically, though his eyes slipped repeatedly between the blood seeping towards his chest and the piercing intensity of his eyes. “I’m sorry, but that’s hospital policy. But the emergency room is right this way,” he explained hopefully, trying to coax him, “and I’ll help you with anything you need --”

“You don’t understand,” the man told him, looking feverish. Even covered in blood, the man was undeniably beautiful. This man was a heartbreaker. Bucky’s eyes flickered momentarily to the tattooed eagle that solved over his thickly muscled forearm and Bucky swallowed, wondering what was possessing him to listen to someone whose every feature seemed to distinctly shout  _ trouble _ . “I can’t go in there.” 

“Why not?” Bucky asked vacantly, forcing himself to focus on what the man was saying. “Is it insurance or something? Worry about that later,” he advised, “surely we can figure something out --” 

The man’s expression instantly contorted into such an intensive display of agony and frustration that Bucky found himself drained of words, trailing off as he spoke. 

“I’ve got a fucking bullet lodged in my shoulder,” he informed Bucky, his voice a muted growl as he tore at his lip in agitation. “And I can’t have someone taking it out of me and putting it in some kind of fucking  _ police file  _ \--” He cut off, swearing in pain. “ _ Fuck-- _ ”

“Police file?” Bucky repeated, stunned. “Who did this?” 

The guy stared imploringly at him. “Just fucking trust me,” he said, in a way that did not encourage any form of trust, “you really don’t want to know -- and it’s either you help me,” he added vehemently, “or I bleed out  _ right fucking now _ .” 

“You want me to break hospital policy  _ and  _ the law?” Bucky stared at the man, eyes wide in shock. He rapidly looked around, wondering if anyone was watching. There wasn’t anyone around, thankfully, and he had never been more relieved that Baron and Wanda were already gone. “You can’t be serious. I could lose my license, I’d -- I’d never get a job --”

“I won’t fucking tell anyone,” he gasped, staggering forward to grip Bucky’s arm. The lines around his face were tight and grim. “Please,  _ please  _ \--” 

“You’re insane,” he insisted, trying not to pay attention to the way the man’s skin was going sallow and pale, his color waning right before Bucky’s very eyes. “Even putting aside the trouble I could get in--”  _ so much goddamn trouble _ \-- “I could  _ kill  _ you. I could do something wrong--” he cut himself off frantically, flailing his hands around in panic as the man groaned loudly in pain. “I don’t even have a  _ sterile environment _ \--”

“What’s your name?” the man interjected, his grasp on Bucky’s arm uncomfortably tight.

“Bucky,” he said, and then shook his head. “I mean Barnes--  _ Doctor  _ Barnes--” 

“Barnes, I’m fucking begging you,” the blond pleaded, “take this fucking bullet out of my shoulder and end the worst fucking day of my life, or just inject me with something and put me out of my misery altogether--” 

The guy broke off, squeezing his eyes shut and flinching, his shirt now soaked with blood. 

“That’s a little dramatic,” Bucky managed, appalled at the sound of his own whimper. But he’d taken an oath, hadn’t he? He’d gone to medical school to  _ save  _ lives, hadn’t he? To do some good in the world? He shifted from foot to foot, torn beyond belief. 

They were outside of a hospital, he reminded himself. He could just  _ make  _ the guy go to the ER. The blond was going to pass out at any moment anyway, so one yell would get an EMT out there asap. There was no reason he couldn’t do things by the book, no matter what the guy said, or how desperate he looked --  _ god _ , he really did look like it was a matter of life or death.

Bucky bit his lip, trying to focus.  _ Trying to think. Think of your career, Bucky, think of your life -- you don’t know what he’s done-- _

_ Does it matter? _ He scolded himself.  _ A life is a life, isn’t it, Bucky? What happened to ‘do no harm’? _

The guy, the attractive stranger that everything hinged so perilously on, shut his eyes, grimacing in pain and Bucky, the medical professional, withered internally. 

_ Even if this is the moral thing to do, are you even awake enough to do it? _ he countered, forcing himself to be reasonable.  _ Fifteen hour shift and he wants you to slice open his shoulder-- _

Bucky shuddered. The guy’s mouth tightened in agony. 

_ There are a million reasons not to _ , Bucky reminded himself. He looked at the guy’s face, at the sheer desperation etched into it, and tried to convince himself not to listen to what those blue eyes were telling him, tried to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut.  _ Don’t do it, Bucky.  _

“Please,” the guy whispered. 

Bucky let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Let me grab some tools,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “You stay here and pray I don’t kill you.”

***

“Hey,” Bucky said, opening the door and settling himself in the passenger seat. “Thanks for coming to get me.” 

“No problem,” Baron said smoothly, putting the car in reverse and backing carefully out of Bucky’s apartment complex. “Were you able to get some sleep?”

Bucky blinked. Bright blue eyes flooded his vision. 

“Yeah,” he lied. 

_ “What happened?” he asked the man, unable to stand the curiosity that kept nagging at him. He’d moved his car to the nearby parking lot and set the man up in the backseat, rejoicing in his unfailingly steady hand -- truly, if ever a time had come to shake, that would have been it -- and hoping his memory wouldn’t fail him.  _

_ “Trust me,” the blond replied, lids heavy, “you don’t want to know.”  _

“Good,” Baron said. “Been to the Red Room before?” 

“No,” Bucky answered, shaking his head. “Is it fun?” 

“It’s a total shithole,” Baron said with a laugh. “Absolute disaster of a place that I would not recommend to anyone. But,” he conceded, glancing warmly at Bucky, “my girlfriend is working tonight, so we’ll at least drink for free.” 

“Good to know,” Bucky grinned, nodding. He leaned his head on his elbow, looking out the window. 

“You sure you’re good?” Baron asked tentatively, glancing at him again. 

_ “Are you okay?” he asked the bleeding man, trying not to let his gaze wander to the ink on his… finely defined chest. There was dark scripture along his collarbone, and a large ‘A’ at his hip bone. There was an array of tattoos that Bucky could make out all scattered down the man’s chest and arms, but he couldn’t dwell for too long considering the guy was bleeding out in the back of Bucky’s Prius, something that was a challenge of its own since Bucky was all but sitting on the man’s lap since he took up all the room. _

_ “I’ve been better,” the man said, sparing half a smile. “But then again, I’ve been worse.”  _

“Fine,” Bucky replied, trying to smile at Baron reassuringly. “Just tired.” 

“I’ll bet,” Baron agreed. “You worked hard today.” 

Well. That was certainly true. 

“ _ You’re good at this,” the blond commented, glancing down at where Bucky had begun to stitch him up.  _

_ Bucky laughed. “How would you know?”  _

_ “The look on our face,” he said, unfazed by Bucky’s skepticism. “You’re focused,” he explained, “and I like to think I can tell when someone’s in their element.”  _

_ “Strangely, that actually means a lot,” Bucky remarked sincerely. “Thank you.”  _

_ “It should mean a lot,” the blond said, and Bucky looked up, his chest tightening as he met the man’s gaze without hesitation. “It’s not often that I give out compliments.”  _

_ Bucky hummed as if in consideration. “I would have never guessed that,” he said, fighting a smile.  _

“I definitely did work hard today,” Bucky agreed, knowing Baron couldn’t have known the half of it. “We all did.” 

Baron shrugged. “It’s less fun to just observe,” Baron said, pulling into a parking spot. The bar was, as Baron had described, not much to look at from the outside. “But I’m sure someday you’ll have the opportunity to compliment me on my fine work,” he added, grinning, and as he stepped out of the car, Bucky followed. 

The inside of bar was not unlike the outside; small and unimpressive, mostly with a spattering of a group around the bar. It was generally clean, but it had horribly tacky red velvet fabric plastered across the walls that should have felt offensive, however, the low light of the place was just enough to hide it from view if someone wasn’t actively looking. Which was exactly what Bucky did as he followed after Baron as he walked up and took a seat at the bar. Bucky took the stool beside his, trying not to be nervous. 

“Hey there, handsome,” the bartender-- Heike, Bucky guessed-- said, offering Baron a cheeky smile of welcome. “It’s about time.” 

“Bored without me?” Baron asked, flashing a smile that Bucky hadn’t yet seen before, something that was intimate with a touch of promise. “Or just lonely?”

“I’d love to be bored,” Heike replied. “Unfortunately, this crowd keeps me busy,” she said, gesturing to the handful of people at the other end of the bar. “I’m Heike,” she added, before extending her hand to Bucky. “I take it you’re one of Baron’s doctor friends?” 

“Bucky,” he said, nodding as she gave his hand a quick squeeze. “You must be his--” 

“Future wife,” Heike returned with a wink, and then turned to grab two glasses. “What’s your poison?” 

Bucky blinked. 

_ “Here,” Bucky said, shoving a bottle of vodka at the guy. “Drink this. Distract yourself.”  _

_ “I’m fine,” the guy replied, rolling his eyes. “I think I can handle a little--” he broke off, hissing as Bucky dug into the wound, “-- pain.”  _

_ “That was convincing,” Bucky murmured, and the blond chuckled.  _

_ “Fine,” he conceded, tipping the bottle back against his lips. “Surprised to see a doctor riding around with this in his car,” he added, eyeing the label.  _

_ “It was a gift,” Bucky explained. “When I started here six months ago.”  _

_ “Ah, nice and aged,” he remarked jokingly and Bucky was absolutely, positively not captivated by how his pink lips shined with wetness. “Perfect.”  _

_ “How is it?” he asked instead, as the guy made a small noise of discontentment. “Sorry, almost got it.”  _

_ “You know, everything tastes a bit coppery at the moment,” he remarked. “Think that’s psychological?” _

_ Bucky pursed his lips, meeting the guys eyes just briefly. “I was never great at psychology,” he said, and the guy laughed.  _

_ “I think I’ll be tasting blood for a while,” he lamented, and then tossed the bottle back, taking another large gulp.  _

“Um,” Bucky’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips, trying to shake his mind free of  _ him _ . “Vodka soda, please.” 

It was then that Wanda swept through the door. She gave an obvious sweep of the place, a wry smile on her face. “Well,” she said, “this is… quaint.” Another quick introduction was undergone as she met Heike and placed her order quickly. When they were all set, they clinked their glasses together and were just about to say ‘cheers!’ when someone was calling for Baron’s attention. 

Baron turned, and Bucky followed his glance to the opposite end of the bar. When his eyes landed on a strawberry blond guy dressed casually in a sweater and jeans, Baron’s face lit up in recognition. “Nelson, long time no see,” Baron said, rising from his seat. 

“Too long,” Nelson agreed, coming over to join them. “I’m Foggy, by the way,” he added, catching sight of Bucky and Wanda and leaning over to wave before gesturing over his shoulder. “Hey, Matt,” he shouted, “come meet Baron!” 

“This is Wanda,” Baron told him, gesturing to his side, “and Bucky. They’re interns at the hospital with me.” 

“Ah, I forgot you’re the fancy doctor-type now,” Foggy said brightly, giving Baron a light punch to the shoulder. “Does that mean you can look at something for me?” 

“I told you, you’re fine,” a dark haired man said behind him, joining their group at the bar. “You have to stop showing people your birthmark. Name’s Matt,” he said, offering a smile and holding out a hand for Bucky. “Bucky, right?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, smiling back at him. He had a vaguely fancy look about him that could easily be intimidating, but his blue eyes were warm and kind, and he was handsome in a mischievous, vaguely reassuring way. “Nice to meet you.” 

“We’re here celebrating,” Foggy explained, nodding to Matt. “Fisk just made Murdock here deputy.” 

“Fisk,” Baron scoffed, and behind the bar, Bucky caught Heike making a face. “That’s a name I’d forgotten how much I disliked.” 

Sometimes, Bucky forgot that Baron grew up right here. He’d been born in Sokovia, sure, but before he hit age ten he’d been shipped to the states with his family and grew up here in good ‘ol Brooklyn, NY. It was strange seeing Baron in his natural element with people he obviously knew and grew up with. Bucky’d been a military kid so he’d been bounced around a lot and never really had stability in any one place long enough to stick to it. He has an older sister, Becca, but she’s been overseas in active duty for more years than not and the last he’d heard from her was three months ago when she’d been given brief clearance. So yeah, it’s strange when someone can go to some random place and know actual people enough to have spur of the moment conversations that don’t turn out to be awkward. 

“Fisk has been in charge of this corner of New York since we were in high school,” Foggy explained. 

“Yeah, and considering the amount of shit you did in high school, I can’t believe he put a  _ badge  _ on you,” Baron muttered around the neck of his beer. 

“Protect and serve,” Foggy gave a two finger salute, chuckling. 

“Both of you are cops?” Wanda asked, taking a sip of her drink and looking curiously at Foggy and Matt. 

“Brooklyn’s finest,” Foggy grinned. 

Matt, on the other hand, rolled his eyes playfully. “Something like that,” he said. “Don’t have too much experience here though. I moved here my senior year of high school. Even though it’s been a few years, things still feel way too new.”

“Well, join the club,” Wanda quipped. “We’re new, too. Well. New-ish.” 

“Doctors,” Heike told Foggy and Matt loudly from behind the bar, pointing to their heads. “Brainiacs.” 

“What kind?” Matt asked. 

Wanda flashed him her slow, calculated grin. “The kind with knives,” she said in a sultry purr, and Matt laughed. 

“Watch out for her,” Baron warned him, glancing over. “That one  _ will  _ bite.” 

“Surgeons, then?” Matt asked, taking a sip of his beer. “Unless you meant that you’re some kind of rogue band of murder doctors.” 

“Not mutually exclusive, is it?” Wanda challenged. 

_ “Tell me one thing,” Bucky said, “so that I feel less like a deranged criminal.”  _

_ “You’re not a deranged criminal,” the blond replied. “Does that help?”  _

_ “Suprisingly, no,” Bucky said, though he could tell he was smiling. “Tell me something about you. I think it’ll make me feel better.”  _

_ “Nothing about me is going to make you feel better,” the guy promised him with a smirk, but at Bucky’s glance, the guy sighed. “Fine,” he conceded. “What do you want to know?”  _

_ Bucky glanced down at the large letters that were tattooed across the man’s abdomen; Rogers, Bucky had read. “Tell me your name,” he said eventually.  _

_ “That’s it?” he asked, looking faintly amused. “My name?”  _

_ “Would you answer any other question?” Bucky prompted, and the blond flashed him a knowing smirk.  _

_ “Steve,” the man answered, and Bucky’s mouth moved on it’s own, letting the syllables form on his tongue silently.  _

“You with us, Bucky?” Baron asked, nudging him. 

“Not murder doctors,” Bucky said quickly, and they all laughed. 

“I asked where you were from,” Matt explained, and Bucky felt his face flush. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I, um, moved here from Indiana.” 

“What he’s not saying is that he went to Harvard Med,” Wanda clarified, taking a dainty sip. “And that the only reason we don’t hate him is that we need his stupid brain.” 

“Really?” Matt asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Harvard, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a shrug, more than eager to change the subject. “Didn’t you say you’d just been appointed as a deputy?” he asked, straightening. “That’s got to be a big deal, right?” 

“Oh, you know,” Matt said quickly, dropping his gaze in a charming show of humility. “It’s an honor, obviously--”

“Fisk fucking loves him,” Foggy cut in, making a face as he downed a shot of whiskey. “Not that he shouldn’t,” he added hastily, giving Matt an affectionate nudge. “This asshole’s one hell of a cop.” 

“I have a funny habit of surviving things I shouldn’t,” Matt explained wryly. “And Foggy’s not so bad either,” he assured them and Wanda looked on in appreciation. 

“What’s it like being an officer of the law?” Wanda asked with sharp eyes. Bucky knew she was probably calculating the amount of homicides they came across on a yearly basis. 

“Well,” Foggy began, his chest thrust forward, “there’s a lot of very significant life saving.” 

Matt chuckled, moving closer to Bucky as Foggy shifted to speak to Wanda. “What there’s  _ really  _ a lot of is paperwork,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t really do much for finding a date.” 

“Odd,” Bucky smiled softly at him. “But still, I suppose you have to be pretty brave with pursing a career like that.” 

“And I suppose you must be awfully smart,” Matt said back, taking another sip of his beer.

_ “So,” Steve said, “why surgery?” He waited for Bucky’s response, watching him. “Just smarter than all the other doctors?”  _

_ “Ha,” Bucky said, shaking his head.  _

_ “I’m not wrong, though. Am I?” he asked, watching Bucky as he sighed, glancing up at him. “You certainly aren’t denying it.”  _

_ “I’m not going to tell you I’m not smart,” Bucky said evasively, “but that’s not why I chose surgery.”  _

_ “Why, then?” Steve asked, and Bucky, for whatever reason, had been foolishly honest with him. _

_ “I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to do something good in the world,” he explained slowly, “but I chose surgery because I like the thrill of it. People don’t exactly expect that from me,” he added. “They find me… boring. I always have my head in a book so everyone always assumes that I’d be happy sitting at a desk and doing what I’m told whenever I’m told so. But the truth is…”  _

_ “You want adventure,” Steve finished for him. “Adrenaline junkie,” he added, flashing him a white smile. “I know what that’s like.”  _

_ “My adventures don’t usually end with bullet wounds,” Bucky pointed out. _

_ “Neither do mine,” he said. “And yet, here we both are.”  _

“I’m smart,” Bucky agreed, taking a sip of his drink. “And you’re brave. I think it’s fair to admit to our strengths.” 

“It’s not a bad combo, either,” Matt concluded, nodding, and looked around. “It’s getting kind of loud,” he commented, with the slightest hint of suggestion, and Bucky realized that the bar really had filled up considerably since they’d arrived. The others had slipped off to the dance floor and Bucky, finding himself alone with Matt, glanced searchingly at him, wondering what was happening between them. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Matt asked carefully. 

_ “Done,” Bucky had pronounced definitively, eyeling his handiwork-- which wasn’t bad, considering. “You’ll need to take care of it, of course. Use this on it and make sure it doesn’t get infected, and--”  _

_ “You’re free of me, Doc,” Steve said quietly, catching the tips of Bucky’s fingers in his free hand as Bucky flailed around absentmindedly, trying to think of everything he would need. “You’ve done more than enough already.”  _

_ Bucky hesitated. “I just want to make sure that--”  _

_ “Thank you,” Steve said, cutting him off. He released Bucky’s hand and Bucky let it float down to his side, rejoining the rest of him. “Really. Thank you for everything.”  _

_ “Steve,” he began tentatively, and Steve looked intently at him, searching his face.  _

_ “Thank you,” Steve said again, his gaze falling helplessly to Bucky’s lips. And then, he was gone. He was popping the backdoor of Bucky’s car open, and seconds later, it was closing.  _

Bucky doubted he would ever see Steve again. 

“Sure,” he agreed, downing the remainder of his glass and smiling at Matt. “Let’s go.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve

* * *

“Well,” Sam said tentatively, “does it hurt?” 

Steve glared at him, his hands wrapped tightly around his shoulder. “No,” he grunted. “Just your standard gunshot mundanity.” 

“No need to be an asshole, Rogers,” Sam retorted with a roll of his eyes, but his more resilient nature summoned a laugh out of him as he slumped down in his chair. “Though I suppose that wasn’t the smartest comment I’ve ever made.” 

“Well, don’t sell yourself short,” Steve said with a tilt of his lips, taking a swig of his beer. “You’ve certainly managed less before.” 

The two of them exchanged glances, smirking. 

“Really, though,” Sam pressed, “you okay?”

Steve shrugged. “Just a flesh wound,” he said, though in truth, he was suffering from a pulsing throb that had yet to dull. “I’ll survive.” He tipped his head back, taking another drink and closing his eyes. “If there’s one thing to be said for Rollins, it’s that he knows what he’s doing. Not exactly a lethal shot,” Steve murmured, opening his eyes back up. 

“Definitely not a kill shot,” Sam agreed, glancing at him. “Something tells me that if he wanted you dead, you fucking would be.” 

Steve grimaced in agreement. Rollins had only shot him to injure, to inconvenience, so that by the time Sam had his gun cocked the other guy had simply laughed their way out, tires squealing as they left Steve behind to bleed all over the car. 

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “Obviously he needed someone to pass along the message.” He clutched his shoulder, applying pressure to the ache as he took another sip, letting the liquid swirl around to steep his tongue in bitterness before swallowing. “Someone to pass along the threat, clearly,” he added after a moment. 

“Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, ‘don’t shoot the messenger’,” Sam commented wryly, turning his head to glance at Steve. “Sucks though, brother.” Sam jerked his chin, gesturing. “You all good now? You never told me how you got things sorted.” 

“You’re right. I didn’t,” Steve agreed, tipping the bottle against his lips. 

After a few seconds of expectant silence, Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered. “If you’d rather be mysterious--”

“I told you, I got a doctor to sew me up,” Steve reminded him. “Good as new,” he lied.

Steve rolled his shoulder again, feeling it tighten and throb.  _ Thank fucking Christ Bucky knew what he was doing, too,  _ Steve thought helplessly, trying to shake the doctor’s wide icy blue eyes from his consciousness. 

_ Barnes,  _ Steve remembered, and then corrected himself--  _ Doctor Barnes,  _ he amended. He was a man who understood the importance of titles, who grasped the order of things. It would never escape him to give Bucky his due. Steve rolled the odd name around on his tongue, the comforting sound of it singing through the marrow of his bones. 

Bucky’d had a look to him. If Steve had to call it something, he supposed it could be innocence, though that wasn’t quite right. Bucky was no doe-eyed damsel, even though that body had certainly not been built to experience a punch or, god forbid, even a bullet. Where Steve was thick and strong, Bucky had a soft looking delicacy about him. Something gentle. But, he’d also had an appealing finesse to him, a wary tenacity-- an _ adrenaline junkie _ , Steve remembered, and barely suppressed a shiver. Being near Bucky had been something of a reprieve, like a splash of cold water, baptizing him in that open too-trusting gaze. Everyone in Steve’s world was coated in a thick fog of the things they’d seen-- things they’d  _ done--  _ and Dr. Barnes was effortlessly untainted. He was… pure. 

_ Poor thing,  _ Steve thought, remembering the question in Bucky’s gaze before Steve had walked away. There was curiosity there, he could tell. Barnes was practically licking his lips for the taste of it. 

_ Don’t do it, _ he thought to himself fiercely, knowing what longing looked like and seeing the telltale signs.  _ If you’re lucky,  _ Steve tried to tell Bucky, tried to shout as he pulled away,  _ you’ll never see me again.  _

It had been chivalry, he supposed, or something like that. It was some weak attempt to spare Barnes the catastrophe that Steve knew perfectly well would be for him. Unfortunately, what Steve hadn’t counted on-- and what he knew would become evident if he shared any detail of his miraculous healing with Sam-- was how difficult it had been for him to drag himself away from that back seat. 

“If you want secrets,” Sam said loudly, interrupting Steve’s thoughts and passing him a sideways glance, “you can have them.” 

It was, Steve knew, a generous offer. Unfairly generous, seeing as Sam had none. Steve sighed. “It’s not that,” he said hesitantly, “it’s just that--” 

The loud bang of the double doors cut him off and they instantly heaved themselves to their feet, offering each other a steadying glance. ‘Tell you later’, Steve mouthed, and Sam nodded, both looking up to catch Pierce and a small number of men trickle from the main room. They all looked uncharacteristically tense, Steve noted, each of their steps seeming somehow deliberate, as if they’d all just been released from captivity.

“Is it just me,” Sam said quietly, frowning, “or does something feel off?” 

“Not just you,” Steve answered just as hushed. The both of them stood off to the side silently, categorizing every face that walked passed them. It just happened that one of the men, Frank Castle, was someone that Steve was familiar with enough to approach. 

“Castle,” Steve said, nodding at the man as he got close enough to offer out his hand. Castle clasped it strongly, his hands rough and inked out like Steve’s. “What happened in there?” he asked, his gaze flicking over Castle’s shoulder. 

Castle shrugged before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, sliding one out before gesturing toward Steve. Steve shook his head wordlessly just as Castle brought a stick up to his lips, reaching behind him to slide the pack away and pulling out a lighter instead. “Fisk is in there,” he said as he flicked the lighter and the flame lit his cigarette. He took a long drag, held it in for a few seconds, before billowing it out. “So it was unusual, to say the least.” 

“Fisk?” Steve echoed, casting a confused glance at Sam. 

“Yeah,” Castle nodded, grinning around the cigarette that hung precariously from his lips. “So act like good little boys and don’t get smart with the police chief.” He blew out smoke again and Steve breathed in the scent familiarly. He never smoked, but everyone around him did, and oddly, he found it comforting. “At least for a while longer, that is,” Castle continued on. “Fisk is wanting to join the world of retirement. Seems to want to get in with Pierce before he goes.” 

“Figures,” Steve muttered, unsurprised. Beside him, Sam shook his head. It was no secret that Pierce was a powerful man. There was a reason why people wanted things from him. “Fisk always was a man who enjoyed his privileges.” 

“A man whose loyalty could be bought, you mean,” Sam corrected. “Or else we all would have been arrested a few times over,” he added, smirking at Steve. 

And that was certainly true. If it wasn’t for Fisk brushing the Avengers activity under the rug, Steve would have a rapt sheet as long as his fucking body. In actuality, that thing was squeaky fucking clean. 

“So,” Steve continued, straightening, “who’s he chosen as his--” 

“Steve,” Nat hissed, suddenly materializing behind Castle’s shoulder and causing the other man to jump. “What the fuck happened with Hydra?” 

“Nat,” Steve said curtly. “Lovely to see you, as always.” 

“Don’t fuck around,” Nat said sharply. “Pierce wants answers. Why was there no deal?” 

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but the low, sharp sound of, “We’re waiting,” from inside the main room, had them all straightening up and walking to the door. 

“Don’t fuck up in there,” Nat warned carelessly over her shoulder, glaring at both of them before raising her chin and tossing her red hair behind her. 

“I’m fine, by the way,” Steve muttered under his breath to Sam, who snickered before obligingly heading inside the room. 

“Gentlemen,” Pierce said, waving a hand to beckon them as they entered. Unsurprisingly, he did not stand upon greeting them, but merely gestured lazily to his side. “I assume you all know Wilson Fisk?” 

“Rogers,” Fisk said, nodding to him before shifting in his seat, his large stomach nudging against the table. “Wilson.” 

“Chief Fisk,” Steve returned, tipping his head in acknowledgement. 

“I think it’s safe to say we know him,” Sam added. “Though this, of course, is a surprise under any circumstances,” he added, his brown eyes flicking pointedly from the notorious emblemed ‘A’ in the center of the table to the gold edge of Fisk’s badge. 

At the unsubtle reminder of his position, Fisk grinned. Pierce tapped a finger lightly against the table, his ring glinting in the light. “They, like the others, are bound to discretion,” Pierce murmured to Fisk, his voice a gentle caress of reassurance. “You did the right thing, coming here.” 

Fisk grunted. 

“Rumor has it that you’ve selected a new deputy,” Steve commented offhandedly, taking a seat. At that, Fisk’s brow furrowed as if he was surprised. 

“Hazards of the job,” Sam explained, settling himself on Steve’s right. “We keep an eye on the station.” 

“I see,” Fisk said, clearing his throat. “I hadn’t realized you two cared much for politics.” 

There was a thick, tense silence for a moment, and then Pierce laughed. It was a strange sound, one that sounded as much as a warning as it was amusing. 

“As I said, Wilson, you’d be a fool to underestimate the Avengers,” Pierce said quietly. “There’s a bit more to our purpose than mayhem.” At the reminder, Fisk seemed to cool slightly, an action that was rewarded with a nod from Pierce. “They’ll be discreet,” Pierce repeated quietly, and Fisk nodded, looking half convinced. 

“I did choose a deputy,” Fisk confirmed slowly, glancing between Steve and Sam. “I hadn’t realised it was such accessible knowledge. His name is Matt Murdock.”

“Murdock?” Steve echoed, frowning as he ran through his mental database of names. “Not from Brooklyn then, is he?” 

Fisk shook his head. “Hell’s Kitchen,” he said. “Came here a few years ago. Hell of a cop,” he added proudly. “Comes from a nice background, too, if you don’t count the tragedies of his life.” 

“Murdock?” Sam asked, a furrow in his brows. “As in relation to Jack Murdock? The boxer that died a few years back?” 

Fisk nodded. “His dad.” 

Steve remembered it well. The boxer that was killed in cold blood. It had been broadcasted across the tv’s for weeks. Given the location and the overall act of the crime, they had all known that Hydra’s hands had been all over that. No one had ever been arrested, though, and it seemed that now Murdock Jr. was ready to take on the justice system. Irony of it was that the system was a fucking joke. 

“Hell’s Kitchen, you say?” Pierce asked, and Fisk nodded. “It’s a timely move, then, as we recently had a bit of a falling out with a few individuals from there.” Pierce glanced up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t we, gentlemen?” 

He felt, more than saw Sam stiffen beside him. Steve ignored the throb in his shoulder. 

“Tell me, Wilson,” Pierce began slowly, “what do you know about Hydra? Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins specifically.” 

At the name, Fisk shot Pierce a pointed glance. Something transpired there, but Steve couldn’t tell what. “Hydra’s a band of misfits that’s managed to carve out the majority of Hell’s Kitchen. They push out drugs by the truckful on nearly a weekly basis,” he explained. “Rumlow and Rollins are foot soldiers at their core. Know how to be nasty when they want, but they know their place, for the most part.” 

“Unless they’re invited?” Sam guessed, smirking. Steve elbowed him sharply. 

“Well, yes,” Fisk agreed with a shrug. “They’ve gotten in a few hits over the years, but other than that, they keep to their side.” 

“Well,” he Pierce said briskly, “I think we--” Pierce motioned to Nat, Steve, and Sam-- “have some private matters to attend to. But I imagine you will all be seeing each other again quite soon,” he suggested, his eyes scanning approvingly over the occupants of the table.

Fisk moved like a man who only moved when he wanted to, not when someone was dismissing him. But, at Pierce’s suggestion, Fisk was heaving himself up from the leather seat and made his way to the door without a second glance after he nodded toward Pierce. 

Once the door closed behind him, Pierce was chuckling. “If only all of our endeavors went that smoothly.” 

Steve swallowed but the dryness in his throat didn’t vanish. “Been making new friends, Alex?” he asked, gesturing to where Fisk had been. 

“I’ve had to, considering my circumstances,” Pierce replied evenly. “Am I to assume Hydra had a message for me?” he asked, tracing his finger over the top of the engraved ‘A’ on the table. 

There was something to the movement, Steve noted. There was a lack of surprise, and an eerie thrill of calm that emanated from Pierce’s posture. 

_ Tell Pierce we want his head.  _

“I think,” Steve determined slowly, his gaze helplessly following the movement of Steve’s finger, “you’ve likely caught on to it already.” 

Pierce’s smile stretched. “Time to find a new buyer,” he mused, and Steve, stunned into silence, flexed his aching shoulder, wondering firstly whether he was still Pierce’s favorite, and secondly, whether that particular role might eventually get him killed. 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Bucky remarked, looking around Matt’s upscale apartment. He caught the sound of the fridge opening and closing, only for a bottle to be popped open seconds later. Bucky settled himself on the leather couch, still looking around as Matt reappeared. 

“What were you expecting?” Matt prompted with a smile, handing Bucky a beer. 

Bucky, obviously one to not be rude, tried his best not to grimace at the thought of having to drink it just to be polite. Beer wasn’t his thing. To buy himself some time, he exaggerated a glance around the place. “Trophies, I think,” he said, and Matt chuckled. 

“What, heads mounted on the wall?” Matt asked as he moved to sit comfortably beside Bucky on the couch. “I keep those in the bedroom where they belong.” 

Bucky laughed. “I guess I meant that you might have more things,” he explained. “This looks like my place, and I just moved in. You’ve been here for years.” 

“I have a couch,” Matt said, gesturing to the cushion between them, “and a coffee table, like a civilized person.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “but there’s no pictures. Nothing personal. Just shiny things that you ordered from a catalogue somewhere. If you wanted to, you could breeze out of here any moment and not have left anything behind.” 

Matt shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “Habit,” he said. “I really haven’t had anyone for a while. My dad… died a few years back. Mom was never in the picture, and no siblings. My uncle took me in when I moved here, but he wasn’t exactly fond of me. I just sort of inhabited his space and left as soon as I could.” 

“What happened?” Bucky asked. “Your dad, I mean.” At Matt’s slight flinch, Bucky cringed. “I mean, if that’s too personal--”

“No, it’s fine,” Matt said, his jaw clenched as he raised the glass bottle to his lips. “He was killed. Sort of why I became a cop.” 

“Oh,” Bucky breathed, and then hastily leapt to change the subject. “So after you left your Uncle’s, you never wanted to make a home somewhere?” he asked, watching Matt shake his head, his features now soft and grateful at the turn of conversation. 

“Never felt worth it, truthfully,” Matt said. “Easier this way, you know?” At Bucky’s nod, Matt took another sip, glancing at him. “What about you? A bit of an orphan as well?”

“No,” Bucky said with a smile, “though it feels that way at times. I’m a military kid. Dad is some ranked position, but I’ve kinda lost track. My sister followed in his footsteps and she’s been away for more years than we ever shared as kids. She’s fifteen years older than me so we weren’t ever really… close, per say.” 

Matt hummed. “So, not an orphan, but alone all the same,” he supplied. “Think you’ll stay here?”

Bucky shrugged, biting into his cheek. “I’ve always  _ tried  _ to put down roots, but so far nothing’s stuck,” he admitted and then laughed. “So I guess I’m not all that different from your empty apartment, now that I think about it.” 

“My apartment isn’t empty,” Matt insisted. “Couch, remember? And coffee table?” He slid closer and Bucky straightened up instinctively, his pulse picking up. “And you’re not empty either, even if you don’t have roots.” 

“I suppose maybe we’re just the kind of people who don’t need a home,” Bucky suggested quietly, his throat going dry as Matt slid an arm around his shoulder. 

“Maybe we’re too addicted to the thrill of being in the wind?” Matt added. “Adventurers of some sorts?” 

_ Adrenaline junkie,  _ Bucky heard Steve say, prompting a shiver up his spine as he nodded breathlessly and Matt leaned in, brushing his lips softly against Bucky’s. Matt pulled back to eye him quizzically, pausing as he searched Bucky’s face for permission. Bucky smiled and him, and in response, Matt threw caution to the wind and deepened their kiss. 

For a moment, Bucky’s heart raced. The thrill of something new and exciting coursed through his veins. The feel of Matt’s chest pressed against his was a painful reminder of what Bucky’d been so long deprived of-- touch. Bucky relaxed in Matt’s arms, turning towards him, and Matt slipped a hand to his waist, his fingers skimming above the waistband of Bucky’s jeans. 

Bucky discarded his beer easily on the coffee table, pressing his cold fingers against Matt’s jaw. Matt shivered, pulling Bucky closer, and Bucky let him, feeling bold as he slipped his tongue against Matt’s. He slid his hands to Matt’s collarbone, spreading his fingers wider, and thought about the way Matt’s lips were softer than she might have guessed, the way his tongue tasted a little sweeter than he expected, and he was warm and reassuring and--

“The Avengers,” Bucky said aloud, pulling away and blinking, suddenly remembering the script that Steve had tattooed on him. “Does that-- is that a thing?” 

“What?” Matt asked vacantly, his eyes unfocused as they met Bucky’s. 

“I-- sorry,” Bucky whispered, shaking his head. “I, um, just remembered-- but nevermind,” he said hastily, pulling Matt’s face back to his. 

“Mmphm,” Matt agreed, pulling Bucky against him as he leaned back against the cushions. Bucky reached up, tugging his collar towards him, before his consciousness suddenly filled with the star and stripes Steve had emblemed on his wrist, the array across his chest, the markings on his knuckles--

“It’s just,” Bucky blurted out, surfacing for a moment, “that’s not like, a gang, is it?” 

“Um, sort of,” Matt said, blinking. “I think they’re a group of mechanics-- bikers, y’know.” 

“Bikers?” Bucky repeated, then nodded, his lips parting to accommodate a wordless  _ ahh  _ of recognition. Bikers certainly had a reason to be covered in tattoos, just like any other person did, but at least mechanics didn’t get weird looks and pointed fingers. “Got it,” he said, then returned to kissing Matt, wiggling against him as Matt slipped his hand up along Bucky’s spine. 

Naturally, it was just as Matt rucked up his hips, that realization dawned on Bucky. 

“Wait,” he said, remembering, “did you say  _ sort of _ ?” 

“Well, yeah,” Matt nodded, looking vaguely tormented as his hand stilled, resting on Bucky’s tailbone. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about them, but it’s fairly common knowledge around here that they’re, y’know, more than just mechanics.” 

“What does that mean?” he asked, frowning. 

“They’re supposedly a bunch of, I don’t know--” Matt shrugged, “-- deviants, I guess. Over the years there’s been a fair amount of criminal activity connected to them. Vigilante justice, that kind of thing,” he explained. “Some evidence of intimidation that later gets tossed out, retribution against outsiders, that sort of stuff.” 

“Oh,” Bucky said, biting his lips. “But… are they dangerous?” 

“To tell you the truth, I really don’t know,” Matt replied, shrugging. “I mean, Foggy hates them, but that’s just some sort of lingering bad blood from their school days as far as I can tell. Other people love them. And most people respect their authority in some way,” he added, looking as though he were making an effort to be fair. “There’s at least some understanding that they protect the town, but--” 

Matt paused, hesitating, and Bucky nudged him. “But what?” he pressed. 

“Well, I mean, I came from Hell’s Kitchen. So Manhattan is a bigger city,” Matt explained. “More crime, so I’m sort of familiar with the dynamic-- and it’s just a feeling, but I would say that even if the Avengers aren’t currently dangerous, they kinda make me still question their intentions.” Matt reached up, running a thumb across Bucky’s lip. “You seem awfully curious about them,” Matt whispered. “Am I not holding your interest?” 

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, blushing. “It’s just… I saw someone with it tattooed on them today, and it just popped into my head, and I don’t know… I’m tired,” he said lamely, emitting a strained laugh that sounded more like a hiccup as he tore his focus away from his memory of Steve--  _ trust me, you don’t want to know--  _ and back to Matt’s gaze. “Exhausted, actually, and I guess my mind is elsewhere…” 

“It’s okay,” Matt said gently, moving to sit up and bringing Bucky up with him. “You don’t have to feel bad.” 

“I just-- I guess this isn’t the best night for this,” Bucky rambled apologetically. “I’m sure I probably seem like an absolute crazy person.” 

“No,” Matt corrected him quickly. “You seem like a person with priorities,” he said, grinning. “There’s nothing ever wrong with that.” 

“Isn’t there?” Bucky asked, wincing. Matt, in turn, removed his hand from Bucky’s waist, bringing it up to cup his cheek reassuringly. 

“You know, if you’re looking for a friend,” Matt began, tossing him a smile, “I’m in the market for one of those, too,” he offered. “It’s hard being a stranger in a strange land.” 

“Tell me about it,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “The hospital is such a stressful place, and I just--” he let out a swift exhale, offering him a weakly hopeful smile. “I really, desperately would like a friend, if you’re offering.” 

“Friends, then,” Matt said, sticking his hand out with a warm grin and giving Bucky’s a firm shake when he clasped it. “But just so we’re clear, if sex becomes part of the equation later on, I’m happy to oblique to that as well.” 

Bucky laughed, which quickly devolved into a yawn. “Sorry,” he said hastily, mortified with himself. “Really, I’m just--” 

“You can stay here, if you want,” Matt suggested. “It’s not a bad couch, really, and I’ve got extra blankets. Plus,” he added, baring his palms for evidence, “I am, after all, a gentleman.” 

“You are,” Bucky agreed, “but I should get home, really, I just--” 

“Look,” Matt said, moving to stand up, “let me get you a glass of water and you can think about it. And if you’re sure, I’ll call you a cab. Sound good?” 

Bucky sighed. “You’re pretty great, you know that?” he said, squinting, and Matt laughed, raking a hand through his hair as he turned to go to the kitchen. 

By the time he came back, glass in hand, Bucky had already fallen asleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The updates for this story will be every Sunday & Wednesday.

“Dr. Barnes?” Dr. Strange prompted, and Bucky snapped to attention, giving him his full attention. “Your patient.” 

“Yes,” Bucky said, stepping forward as all of the interns’ attention shifted to him. “Mr. Lee is suffering from a rather disconcerting mix of confusion and memory loss,” he explained. “Amnesia, delusions, some evidence of mania--” 

“And the psych consult?” Dr. Strange asked. 

“Not entirely accurate,” Bucky admitted, watching as Stan Lee, his patient, sat up in bed and started muttering his nonsense again. Bucky caught the phrases,  _ ‘I’ve been into space, _ ’ and ‘ _ I was poisoned with soda,’ _ and ‘ _ I’m Stan Lee, really I am _ ’, and if it wasn’t for how impressed he was with the stories the older man had told him for the past hour, he’d pity the fella. “Mr. Lee wasn’t entirely lucid at the time so the psych team is coming back this afternoon.” 

“Good,” Dr. Strange nodded, frowning as he looked at the patient in bed. Mr. Lee was talking about some web-slinger in Queens now, along with rambling about a supersoldier the government created during WWII. “And your thoughts?”

“I think it’s safe to rule out Parkinson’s or Huntington’s,” Bucky said, noting the lack of relevant symptoms. “Early onset dementia is a more likely possibility.” 

Dr. Strange gave him a proud look, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’d assume the same,” he agreed. Then, he was straightening up and addressing the rest of the class. “Alright. Dr. Maximoff, you’re in the clinic. Dr. Barnes, you and Dr. Zemo are scrubbing in on the kidney transplant this afternoon-- Dr. Zola--”

“Transplant?” Wanda hissed. “You two? While I’m on  _ clinic  _ duty?” 

“You said yourself you’ve been here ten hours,” Bucky reminded her. “Do you really want, what, ten more?” 

“Yes!” Wanda exclaimed. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” 

“Maybe Strange is hoping you’ll learn how to behave like a human,” Baron joked, nudging her. “Just ask a few patients how their day is going and, you know, let him overhear--”

“I’m a surgeon, not a therapist,” Wanda grumbled just as Dr. Strange cut them loose and they turned, walking down the hall. “What do I care how they’re feeling?” 

“Why did you even want to be a doctor?” Baron asked, smirking. “Seems you’d have been better suited to building missiles or robots or something.” 

“Ugh, that would be a joy,” Wanda sighed wistfully. “Binary. Get crazy with some zeroes and ones--” 

“If only people were that simple,” Baron remarked, and Bucky let out a disbelieving laugh. 

“If only people were more like robots?” he asked, shaking his head. “You’re both fully psychotic.” 

“Hey, my sanity could do with having to care about our patients less,” Baron said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not going to be fun when you tell your headcase patient that he’s, you know, a loony headcase,” he said pointedly, “and not some famous celebrity comic book creator or whatever he said he was--” 

“No, but at least it’s not boring,” Bucky said, and then glanced down at his watch. 

“Got somewhere to be?” Baron asked, and at his hint of intrigue, Wanda leaned in curiously to listen. “Meeting up with your boyfriend?” 

“He’s not my  _ boyfriend _ ,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “He just stops by with coffee every now and then.” 

“The guy from Red Room?” Wanda asked. “The cop you banged last week?” 

“I didn’t!” Bucky insisted, but the other two giggled like children as his face reddened. “I  _ didn’t _ , we’re just  _ friends _ .” 

“He was kind of hot,” Wanda admitted with a grin. “And you kind of  _ really  _ need to get some,” she added, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“I do not,” Bucky started to protest, but Wanda held up a hand. 

“You just questioned our humanity,” she said. “I think you could stand to loosen up a bit. You know…  _ unwind _ .” 

“How long has it been, anyway?” Baron asked, feigning innocence, and Bucky threw his head back in frustration. 

_ Too long _ , he thought, remembering how he’d been too tired to even touch himself last night. He supposed they weren’t wrong. 

Not that it mattered. 

“I’m not telling you,” he groaned just as he beelined for the exit. “And I won’t be sharing any of my coffee with you either.” 

“You’d be a happier person if he knew less about how you took your coffee,” Baron called after him, “and more about your--” he dropped his voice, mouthing to her-- “ _ preference in bed.”  _

Instead of wasting his energy using his voice, Bucky simply flicked them off before walking through the automatic door, Baron’s and Wanda’s laughter echoing in the atrium behind him. 

The patrol car waiting out front was a sight that Bucky had become accustomed to for the past two weeks. As Bucky got closer, the window rolled down. “Hey,” Matt beamed as Bucky arrived. “Brought a friend this morning.” 

“Hey Foggy,” Bucky said, pleasantly surprised as he leaned against the passenger side. “Good to see you.” 

“You too,” he said brightly, as Matt passed Bucky a cup of coffee through the window. “Kicking ass and saving lives?”

“Something like that,” he agreed, taking a sip. It was perfect, as always. “I’m just checking on patients this morning. Scrubbing in with Baron on a surgery this afternoon,” he added, knowing he probably looked a bit smug with pleasure. 

Matt let out a low whistle, impressed. “Wow,” he remarked, flashing Bucky his megawatt smile. “That’s awesome.” 

“What about you two?” Bucky asked. “Kicking ass and saving lives?” 

Foggy made a face, leaning his head back with a heavy sigh. “No,” he grumbled. “Fisk has us keeping an eye on the Avenger’s clubhouse.” 

Suddenly the tattooed script on Steve’s body was bubbling up inside Bucky’s brain. 

“Clubhouse?” Bucky echoed, his heart leaping against his will. 

“They call it the tower, because it’s a five story warehouse and they’re all assholes,” Foggy said sullenly. Matt chuckled. 

“I mentioned the bad blood, right?” he asked Bucky, gesturing to Foggy’s sulking. “It looks a bit like this.” 

Bucky lifted an eyebrow. “Bad blood?” he asked. “With anyone in particular?” 

_ Don’t say it, don’t say it-- _

“A few of ‘em,” Foggy said, a shadow of distaste passing over his face. “Fuckers. They were asshols in school and they’re assholes now. They think they’re all above the law,” he added with disgust. “Or worse, that they  _ are  _ the law. I’m telling you,” he shifted to turn to Matt, “you will fucking  _ hate  _ Steve Rogers when you meet him,” Foggy sheathed, and Bucky froze at the sound of  _ his  _ name, nearly dropping his coffee. “The guy acts like he’s noble, or some shit. Talks like he’s above everyone. The same with his sidekick, Sam Wilson. The rest of them are just as bad.” 

_ You’re free of me, Doc,  _ Steve whispered in Bucky’s memory. If Bucky thought hard enough, he could still feel that alluring heat breeze against his skin everywhere they had touched. He could still remember how hard Steve’s flesh had been beneath his fingertips. Bucky licked at his lips. 

“Bucky,” Matt said suddenly, staring right at him. Bucky blinked. “You okay?” 

“What? Oh, yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just--” he shook his head, trying to shake the picture of Steve’s face from his mind. “I’m fine,” he finished unconvincingly. 

Matt opened his mouth as if to ask more questions, but Bucky frantically turned his attention back to Foggy. “Why are you keeping an eye on them?” he asked. “Did they do something?” 

Foggy shrugged. “Supposedly there’s some kind of threat that was placed against them from a rival group in Hell’s Kitchen.” 

Matt nodded in confirmation. “A group called Hydra,” he explained. “According to Fisk, they made a move on the Avengers last week. Started throwing around some threats a couple weeks back.”

_ A couple weeks back…  _ The timeline was perfect.  _ Trust me, you don’t want to know,  _ Steve had told him. Bucky’s heart started to pound. 

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Through  _ fuck  _ Fisk if he thinks I’m going to play bodyguard for Alexander fucking Pierce and his band of lowlifes. Fisk says they’re tax-paying citizens, too, like they’re really putting  _ everything  _ on the books or some shit--” 

“Anyway,” Matt interrupted loudly, “putting Foggy’s outburst aside, we should probably get back to life saving. As should you,” he said, tilting his head playfully. Bucky gave him a tentative smile. 

_ Life saving,  _ Bucky repeated to himself, waving as they drove away. Funny that he’d done just that right in this very parking lot two weeks ago. Bucky frowned, remembering once again. The clinical pieces of his brain began to wag a finger in admonishment as his years of study lurched to the forefront of his mind. He counted backwards, thinking, that there was something he needed to do-- something that he hadn’t-- 

_ Shit,  _ he realized, and came to a sudden halt. 

Those stitches were going to need to come out. 

* * *

Steve

* * *

Steve’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter and he picked it up, glancing at the screen. 

**From SC:** _ Hey  _

Sharon. Oh fuck no, he thought to himself, and growled as another message popped up on the screen. 

**From SC:** _ You up? _

Irritation clawed at him. It was a stupid question. It wasn’t even seven yet. He made sure his reply was short and empty. 

**From SGR:** _Tired_

He moved to set his phone down, but the response was instant. 

**From SC:** _ You sure? :( _

Steve sighed, annoyed, and set the phone down without bothering to reply back. He was just about to walk away as it started buzzing against the counter. Just as he was about to silence the damn thing, the name on the screen had him picking it up and answering. “What’s up?” 

“I’m at the tower,” Sam’s voice was calm, but Steve could detect the amusement underlining it, willing to bet money that Sam was smiling. “You’ll never guess who was here.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Who?” 

“Foggy fucking Nelson,” Sam said with a laugh. “And he had that Murdock guy with him. The new deputy.” 

Now  _ that  _ was certainly interesting and it had Steve perking up immediately. “What’s he like?” 

“Kind of a weird dude. Super damn earnest.”

Steve scoffed, grinning. “Everyone is, compared to us.” 

“Maybe, but really. Like, he’s  _ really  _ really out there.” 

Steve paused. “Is Fisk right, then? About Murdock being--” 

“--pliable? Don’t know, but he certainly didn’t look…  _ informed _ , if you know what I mean.” 

“I know what you mean,” Steve sighed heavily. “I  _ always  _ know what you mean.” 

“Don’t simplify me, Rogers, it’s rude--” 

Steve heard a car door slam shut outside his apartment and frowned. 

“Rogers, I’m  _ talking-- _ ” 

“I gotta go,” Steve said, hanging up abruptly, and walking to the window. He peaked through a crack in the curtains and when he caught sight of the shiny silver Prius that the beautiful doctor had stitched him up in. His breath held as he waited to see if Bucky would emerge. 

Lo and behold, he did. Of course he did. 

When Bucky stepped out of his car, he swung a nice looking leather bag over his shoulder before tucking his hands into the black cardigan he wore. His hair was soft looking and free as it brushed faintly against his jaw but Steve figured he’d just gotten off of work since he seemed a little tired. Though, certainly nowhere near how exhausted he’d been when Steve met him. Bucky had a bit of color in his cheeks from the crispness of the air and a smile tugged at his pretty lips as he made his way to Steve’s door. Steve watched Bucky bite his lip in hesitation. 

Steve’s mind was a hazy buzz of..  _ everything _ . Admiration and excitement and-- Steve hung his head, cursing, when he remembered the circumstances that put them in each other’s path. He left Dr. Barnes in his car not because he was a chicken-shit, but because it’s what needed to be done for the young man’s safety.

_ Fuck me _ , he swore, then frantically skimmed up and down the street for any signs of watching eyes. He frantically tore through his mind for a way he could pass off Bucky’s visit without Pierce getting wind of it. To put it simply, Pierce wasn’t much for outsiders. He certainly wouldn’t take kindly to anything that appeared suspicious, and he was a man who found most things suspicious. 

Steve rushed to the door, opening it, before Bucky could know. 

“How did you find me?” he demanded, glancing around. “Get in,” he added, pulling Bucky inside quickly. When his hand wrapped around Bucky’s arm, it was certainly disconcerting how slim the man felt. So delicate for a man to be touched by Steve’s strength. It took no effort at all for Steve to slam the shut behind them both. 

“Um,” Bucky began, stumbling through the doorway. He looked slightly frazzled with being jostled, but he was righting himself quickly once Steve let him go. “Well, I see you’re still alive.” 

Steve crossed his arms. “How did you find me?” he repeated. Bucky seemed to wilt then, looking unsure for a split second at Steve’s hostility, but then he raised his chin, solidifying himself, and secretly, Steve was disturbingly pleased to see the man didn’t back down. 

“Surprisingly, Steve Rogers isn’t a common name here in Brooklyn,” Bucky informed him, pursing his lips. Lips that were plump and bitten raw and begging to be kissed. “It wasn’t that hard. And  _ shockingly _ ,” Bucky added, “the kidney transplant I did today was slightly more complicated than a Google search.” 

A fucking kidney transplant. Steve almost laughed. God, Bucky was so fucking pure. 

“Why are you here?” he asked gruffly, blatantly ignoring Bucky’s comment and wondering if he should rush the man out. Someone would have noticed the car by now, especially given that no one in this area drove a goddamn Prius of all things. 

“I have to remove your stitches,” he said. There was a prim kind of stubbornness, a little taste of don’t fuck with me that he should have known right away was dangerous. “I didn’t exactly get my hands on the high quality dissolving kind when I was Frankensteining you back to life in my car.” 

“Oh,” he said, almost dumbly as he instinctively brought his hand to his shoulder. Frankensteined or not, Bucky had done a solid enough job. It would scar, obviously, but not badly. “Fine.” 

“If you're busy, I can come back later,” Bucky offered, casting a quick glance at the door, but Steve shook his head. 

“No,” he said sharply. “You shouldn’t come back here.  _ Ever _ ,” he added emphatically, hoping Bucky would find that sufficient. 

“Okay,” Bucky said quietly, almost blankly. He was biting at his lips again. It must be a nervous habit, Steve realized, watching as Bucky looked toward the door again, shifting on his feet. “Or I could just go,” Bucky added, shooting him a look that Steve could only decipher as the pretty doctor challenging him. “If you’d rather I not be here.” 

Steve fought a frustrated groan. Bucky was more than a little enticing, in fact, Steve hadn’t ever wanted someone as much as he wanted the man standing in front of him-- which was a  _ definite  _ problem. “It’s not you,” he said quickly, overwhelmed with the feeling that he needed to explain himself. “It’s--” 

He cut himself off. Bucky waited. 

“Nevermind,” he said slowly, eyeing the man. His gaze dipped down to Bucky’s legs, admiring their long length and shape that the skinny jeans on his body accentuated. Steve didn’t even know a person who owned skinny jeans-- excluding Nat, but she stuck exclusively to leather. He couldn’t let his gaze linger too long otherwise things would get a little… tight, down South. “Just-- do what you have to do, then.”

“How gracious of you,” Bucky quipped sarcastically, but he put his bag on the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for Steve. “Sit,” he instructed. “And, uh, shirt off,” Bucky added, his cheeks adorably turning pink. 

Steve just wasn’t the type to let that slide. He hopped onto the opportunity, grinning. “Are you sure this isn’t a social visit?” he asked Bucky, smirking as he dutifully removed the thin black t-shirt he wore. Delightfully, Bucky’s eyes went instantly to Steve’s chest, and the blush on his face darkened. 

“Purely medical,” Bucky nodded, but his voice didn’t sound as strong as it had before. “So sit here, and-- is that a  _ gun _ ?!” 

Steve’s gaze shot to Bucky’s, taking in the horrified expression on his pretty face as he eyed the handle that protruded from Steve’s waistband. 

“It is,” he nodded, before slowly removing it and setting it behind him as he took his seat. “Can never be too careful.” 

“But you’re in your  _ house _ ,” Bucky squeaked, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

_ Ah, culture shock, _ Steve thought, strangely thrilled.  _ Welcome to my world, Doc. _

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That’s why it’s a Glock and not an AR. Much more casual,” he joked. 

“Not a... “ Bucky trailed off, swallowing thickly when the realization dawned on him. “Oh.” 

Bucky stood still, as if he was uncertain suddenly. He looked small and lost, and for some reason, Steve almost smiled. Every fiber in him wanted to ask the pretty man if he was making him nervous. 

Steve certainly hoped so. 

“This is what you came for, right?” he broke the tense moment, gesturing to his shoulder. The thick black stitches were stark against the yellowed bruising of his skin. 

“Right,” Bucky agreed, suddenly snapping out of his temporary pause and pulling up a chair next to Steve, rigling for things in his bag and getting to work. Bucky seemed subdued once he began doing things he understood. Steve related to that immensely. It was that moment of stillness and focus right before the engine roared to life. “How are you feeling?” 

“Stressed,” he replied. “What about you?” 

He watched Bucky’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I meant the whole bullet wound thing,” he clarified, his icy blue eyes briefly meeting Steve’s. 

Steve scoffed. “Ah, that,” he replied, trying not to shrug and disrupt Bucky’s work as he unwillingly dragged his attention back to the stitches. “You do great work, Barnes. I’m perfectly healed.”

“Really?” Bucky asked dubiously, glancing at Steve again. His eyes, normally wide and earnest, were glimmering with delicate skepticism. 

“No,” Steve grumbled. “It fucking  _ hurts _ , Barnes, what do you want from me? Can’t you just let me be a man?” Something warm erupted inside of him as he watched Bucky smile. 

“Right,” Bucky said, nodding solemnly and ducking his head to hide a small chuckle. “Of course.”

Steve watched him work, wondering if he wasn’t secretly relieved to see him again. The first time had been tainted by the disaster of the day, of course-- hell, these past two weeks had been ruined because of it, the threat of Hydra. Not to mention the guns they still possessed. The targets that they’ve all been walking around with. 

He wanted to tell Bucky to run, to go far from here-- from him. 

But Steve had run once, and yet, Bucky was here again, and was Steve really supposed to be a gentleman  _ twice _ ? 

Today was a different day, he reminded himself, chasing his thoughts away as Bucky’s eyes met his again. Bucky couldn’t seem to help himself, and Steve found he wasn’t opposed. Today, the pretty doctor was in his house, and Steve was already fucked by Bucky’s presence, and his slim fingers were a little too inviting on Steve’s skin... It would be stupid. Completely idiotic. 

But maybe, just  _ once _ ...

“There,” Bucky said breathlessly, smoothing his hand over the faded mark of the wound. His touch was cool and captivating, intriguing, as if it was something precious. “I can give you something for the scars, if you want--” 

_ Fuck it.  _

Steve leaned forward, gripping the back of Bucky’s head and pulling his lips to the brunet’s. The kiss wasn’t rough enough to bruise but it was certainly firm enough for Bucky to know that Steve meant it. Enough to tell Bucky what he wanted. When he slipped his tongue along Bucky’s bottom lip, it was a silent question waiting to be answered. 

Bucky swayed toward him in a helpless way, like he was fighting it, but eventually he kissed Steve back just as eagerly. Then, Bucky’s hands were slipping down Steve’s stomach, resting delicately on Steve’s hips. He wondered if Bucky could feel the way he leaned into his touch, the hairs rising on his arms as Bucky’s fingers moved to linger on the waistband of his jeans. Steve pulled Bucky’s head back, moving to scrape his teeth along the vulnerable pale skin along Bucky’s neck, feeling the brunet shudder in response. 

Slowly, Bucky pulled away, his eyes closed. His lips were red now, and slick with their spit. “I really, really, really,  _ honestly  _ came here to fix your stitches.” 

“But?” he prompted, his voice husky and low. 

Bucky looked at him and something complicated, almost skeptical flashed across his face. “I’m… a surgical intern,” he said, and Steve blinked, unsure of what direction Bucky was taking. “I work horrible shifts and I barely have time for anything.  _ Anything _ ,” he repeated adamantly, and Steve realized that Bucky was asking him for something. 

_ Permission to be selfish _ , Steve thought in awe,  _ and to not be judged for wanting.  _ Was there ever going to be a moment that Steve wasn’t so head over heels with how pure this man was? Fuck, he wanted it.  _ Needed  _ it. 

“You want me to fuck you,” Steve laid it out, cut and dry, and though Bucky seemed momentarily uncomfortable with the vulgar phrasing, he nodded. 

Steve fought a smirk. It was fine by him. 

He yanked Bucky to him again and instantly, Bucky’s hands were on his chest. Steve smiled as Bucky sighed into his mouth, Bucky’s hands traveling hungrily over the curves and angles to prove what Steve suspected all along-- Bucky had been looking. He pushed Bucky’s cardigan away from his shoulders before finding the hem of his soft t-shirt and easing it over his head. It was when he took the extra few seconds to put the article on the table, blindly reaching behind him as his mouth devoured Bucky’s, that he realised how gentle he was treating this. It was certainly a first… He was usually one to get the other naked, leaving a trail of clothes behind in their wake, scattered haphazardly, not  _ caring _ . Everything about this was different. 

When Steve’s fingers found the button of Bucky’s jeans, Bucky was reaching down and grabbing onto him, holding him in place. They didn’t move forward, or backward. Instead, there was a silent pause where Bucky just held his hands still as if he didn’t know whether or not he should be allowing Steve in, or pushing him away. 

“Hey,” Steve murmured against his lips, Bucky’s breath starting to come out in stutters. “It’s your call, Buck.” One of his hands clasped on top of Bucky’s, smoothing the soft skin there. Never once did Bucky’s eyes leave his, searching for whatever he was looking for. 

Until eventually, Bucky nodded and with their hands still connected, together they undid the button of his jeans. When Steve bent to glide the fabric off of Bucky’s legs, he placed a kiss against Bucky’s collarbone that had him shuddering. “Let me make you feel good,” he whispered against Bucky’s skin. 

The brunet whimpered as Steve helped him out of his jeans and then with ease, Steve was fully picking the man up and walking them to the couch. He’d never-- Steve had never used his strength before like this, to put it to use in fucking another person. It was always quick, straight to the point, and if he could get away with as little touching as possible, then he counted it as a win. But with Bucky, he wanted their skin together. He wanted to feel how Bucky clung onto him as he lowered them down onto the couch, brain blacking out as Bucky straddled his waist. 

Steve’s hands were hungry, greedy, as they ran over petal-soft skin. Bucky’s smell was sweet and fresh, something so precious that it made Steve yearn that much more, made him grab Bucky just a bit tighter-- because of how  _ wrong  _ he was for Steve, and how fucking  _ bad  _ he’d be for Bucky--

Bucky slid his hands around Steve’s jaw, his fingers gliding into the short hairs of Steve’s beard until they were locked in the hair on top of his head. Bucky’s fingers tightened, pulling Steve’s head back, and in Steve’s surprise at Bucky’s aggression he looked up, meeting the brunet’s gaze. A stray piece of hair fell in front of Bucky’s eyes and without hesitating, Steve reached up to tuck it behind Bucky’s ear, his fingers skating over Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s breath hitched, his eyes widening, and his hand tightened around the back of Steve’s neck. Steve watched Bucky swallow, watched Bucky’s eyelids fall heavily, and he knew that he would do everything in his power to make this holy creation feel good by any means possible. 

Steve slid one of his hands up Bucky’s spine as the other ran a thumb over the hardened bead of Bucky’s nipple, before tucking his head down and taking it into his mouth. The sound of Bucky’s breathy moan alone would have Steve hardening if he wasn’t already granite-solid in his pants. 

He could tell that Bucky was trying to hold back. He watched the tension in Bucky’s throat, saw Bucky bite back an escaping mewl of pleasure and he, in turn, swallowed a hiss of urgency and lifted his hips to encourage the man in his arms. 

“Let go,” he whispered, and then Bucky’s lips were parting, red where his teeth had been, as he ground against Steve. There was a shared need burning between them as Steve gripped Bucky’s ass, thrusting his hips with every move of Bucky’s hips. 

Bucky reached down, unbuttoning Steve’s jeans and fumbling with the zipper before grabbing the weight of Steve’s shaft in his hand. A throaty groan left Bucky’s throat before he swirled a thumb against Steve’s tip, then sliding his palm down. Bucky gave him a sure stroke, one that had Steve’s eyes rolling in the back of his head as he stuttered out a curse, his hands squeezing Bucky’s sweet flesh. He jutted his hips upwards, fucking himself into Bucky’s hand, as he lowered his head to Bucky’s skin, sucking hard enough to leave a few marks. His teeth dragged slowly, and his eyes were cracked open just enough to watch the red marks bloom against the pale skin beneath him. The arm he had wrapped around Bucky’s waist tightened as his hand slid down past the elastic of Bucky’s underwear. He rubbed against the dip between Bucky’s cheeks before he went further. 

Letting out a breathless moan, Bucky grinded down hard against him when the pad of Steve’s finger found that tantalizing, delicate furl of muscle. With his other hand, he pulled Bucky tight against him as he fumbled for his wallet. Without tearing himself away from the man in his arms, he blindly plucked the small packet of lube from the folds. He let the wallet fall uselessly to the floor as he tore the packet open with his teeth and pooled it across his fingers. Switching hands, his slicked digits slid down to find Bucky’s hole. He stroked once, briefly meeting Bucky’s eyes as he sought permission, and slowly dipped his finger in at Bucky’s shaky nod. 

He took his time working Bucky open. One finger, then two, pressing deep until his knuckles pressed against Bucky’s ass. Never once did Bucky stop stroking him and never once did Steve get tired of it. He was used to fast, chasing down his release as soon as possible, not caring if the other got off or not. But with Bucky he soaked up every second they touched, every second he spent finger-deep inside of the man. And if it was this good now, he couldn’t imagine how heavenly it would be to be surrounded by Bucky’s heat, to be buried in that sweet ass. It felt sinful to even think about, with how Bucky was so fucking  _ good  _ and  _ clean  _ and goddamn  _ pure _ , not like anything he’d ever known. 

It was just as Steve started working a third finger in, that Bucky started to squirm. Bucky’s arms around Steve’s neck tightened, and he pulled back, panting, his eyes a hazy sight. “Steve-- Steve, fuck me, please. Please,  _ please-- _ ” he murmured against Steve’s neck. 

Steve was more than happy to oblige. 

Except, as he started to pull down Bucky’s boxers, he cursed his laziness when he realized that in order to get them off, he’d need to separate himself from the angel in his arms. 

And like  _ hell  _ was he going to do that. 

He reached for the switchblade he carried in his back pocket and as he pressed the button, the sharp click of the blade emerging had Bucky turning rigid in his hands. Wide eyes frantically met Steve’s, but Steve knew what he was doing and did his best to ease the brunet just as he slipped the blade under the fabric. The cool blade pressed between the silk of Bucky’s skin and the flimsy layer of cotton before slicing through the material, tearing it away from him. Bucky made an incoherent, strangled sound of disbelief mixed with something that mirrored Steve’s own hunger and without wasting a second, he let the blade fall to the floor with a clatter. 

Before Bucky could say or do anything, Steve was laying him down on the cushions of the couch and moving to lay over him. He held the most of his weight with his arms as he sought out Bucky’s mouth, giving him a deep, wet, mostly tongue kiss. But then Steve was moving once again and grabbing Bucky’s legs, hitching them over his hips and pressing forward. 

It was then that the realization dawned on him. Strangely, he hadn’t even considered using a condom. In actuality, he’d never had sex without one. He’d been so eager to sink into the man in his arms that he hadn't even thought to grab one from his wallet. He’d grabbed the lube, sure, but the other had gone forgotten. 

What he did know, however, was that he wasn’t going to force this onto Bucky. 

Swallowing, Steve pulled away just enough to give an inch between their bodies. “I’m clean,” he said, meeting Bucky’s eyes to show his sincerity. He knew Bucky had no reason to trust him, but whatever Bucky’s call was, he was going to fucking respect it. 

Bucky met his gaze and as the seconds continued to tick by, Steve started to reach down for his wallet. Only just as he released Bucky, Bucky’s hand was shooting out and grabbing ahold of him. “No, it’s okay,” he whispered, nodding. “I trust you. I’m clean, too.” 

“Are you sure? I want you to be absolutely sure.” 

Bucky grinned so beautifully, and Steve couldn’t resist the urge to reach up and press his fingers against the movement. Bucky turned his head, pressing a kiss against Steve’s fingers. “I’m sure, Steve. I want to feel you inside of me. Now--  _ please _ .” 

And there it was. 

Leaning back over, Steve found Bucky’s mouth and let their tongues mold together as he reached down and aligned his cock with Bucky’s hole. Once he caught the brunet’s entrance, his arms locked beneath Bucky’s back and slowly, he inched his way forward. 

Bucky was tight. So incredibly tight that Steve swore he saw stars as he stilled his hips, giving Bucky the time to get adjusted. The brunet hissed as Steve pushed in, arching his back, and it was once Bucky begged for more, that Steve started to thrust into him. 

“Oh, f-fuck, Steve,” Bucky panted against him, burying his head into Steve’s neck, latching on. 

He knew he wasn’t going to last long. When it felt like heated velvet was wrapped around him, squeezing him, welcoming him, he knew that it was just impossible to go any longer than ten minutes. Given the way Bucky was moaning and squirming beneath him, he had the sense that the slimmer man wouldn’t go that long either. 

“Baby, you feel so good,” he said gruffly against Bucky, tightening his arms as he felt his release start to approach. It was like a fiery warmth that started to grow, making his movements grow frantic. “So fucking good, Bucky.” Knowing he only had seconds left, he reached between them and grabbed ahold of Bucky’s cock, pumping him with strong, sure strokes. 

With a gasp, Bucky let his head fall back against the cushions. His fingernails dug into the meat of Steve’s back and the pain mixed with the pleasure had Steve absolutely losing it. He hiked up Bucky’s waist, clutched onto the delicate bones of his hips, and gave Bucky his all. 

“Fuck, god, Steve--  _ Steve--- _ ” Bucky’s eyes squeezed shut, his lips parting open, wild and enraptured. “-- I’m going to come-- oh, fuck-- I’m--”

“Holy shit,” he gritted out, feeling both of their muscles tense. “Come for me, Buck,” he said, the intimacy of the brunet’s name slipping out through his teeth, “come for me--” 

As Bucky’s face went blank with pleasure, Steve knew for certain that he was fucked. He closed his eyes as Bucky called out his name and considered with vague amusement that the concept of  _ just once _ had been one of his greatest delusions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts so far?


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky

* * *

Bucky woke up to Steve’s head between his legs-- specifically, to the sensation of Steve’s mouth on his dick-- and he attempted to bolt upright, but a thick arm shot out with an impossible quickness, Steve’s palm pressing against the flat of Bucky’s stomach to keep him against the pillows. 

“Your alarm went off,” Steve commented offhandedly, the words spoken into the soft part of Bucky’s inner thigh. “Are you aware it’s three in the morning?” 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Bucky gasped, fighting a whimper as Steve pushed his knees up and nosed his way down to Bucky’s hole, letting his tongue lick against him. It was a struggle keeping his eyes open as his fingers carded through Steve’s hair. “I have to--” 

“Nope,” Steve interrupted, giving him another forceful shove as Bucky tried to sit up. “If you’re going to wake me up at three in the morning, you’ll have to pay the price.” 

“The price being what, exactly?” he asked, squirming as Steve sucked on his finger before pressing it against him, the coolness making him almost yelp. One finger went in and with an ease that had Bucky going lightheaded, Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled Bucky’s hips closer to him, burying his face against him once again. “ _ Oh _ ,” Bucky gasped, “Steve, fuck--” 

Steve hummed something Bucky had to assume was amusement, but he was too busy tightening his grasp of Steve’s hair, his hips hiking up. “I-- I don’t have a lot of time,” Bucky managed, closing his eyes, “I have to--  _ ngh _ , god,  _ what are you _ \--” 

Steve pushed in a second finger before hitching his shoulders under Bucky’s legs, his hand sliding from Bucky’s stomach to press against his hips as he offered the brunet something close to a shrug; some kind of brisk indication of nonchalance, an almost arrogant declaration of ‘ _ believe me, I don’t care’.  _

“I have to--” Bucky stopped, letting out a sound he’d never made before. It was something like a choked out wail as Steve took Bucky’s cock fully into his mouth, his nose pressing against the skin above Bucky’s groin. The blond was devouring him, and slowly Bucky’s brain was shutting down, devolving to a lust-filled ball of mush that wanted more,  _ needed  _ more. “-- work-- I gotta go to work-- and I,  _ oh fuck _ \--” 

He came with an almost violent force, a rush of something so achingly potent that it struck him first as pain, a moan erupting from his lips as the tension Steve had built inside of him shattered, bursting free in a wave that had Bucky shaking. And through it all, Steve’s muscled arms were wrapped tight around him, holding him tight. 

“So fucking beautiful,” Steve murmured as he made his way up to Bucky’s face, kissing the skin on his way up. “That was hot, baby,” he said as he found Bucky’s lips. Their mouths molded together and Steve wasted no time slipping his tongue inside as Bucky rode out his release. When Steve pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “But listen, it’s early, Barnes, and I don’t make a habit of being awake unless I’m getting something out of it.” 

It took him a few seconds to collect his thoughts, but when he did, he was grasping the back of Steve’s neck, grinning. “Well,” he breathed out, tugging against Steve’s hair, “I have to get home to shower, so if it’s quick--” 

“I don’t do quick,” Steve shot back, and Bucky registered the insult in the blond’s tone as he slid against him, bending him nearly in half as he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. Bucky’s breath escaped through his teeth in a hiss just as he felt Steve’s cock press against his entrance. “You’ll get to work on time.” 

Bucky smiled as Steve switched to his other nipple, rolling his tongue against Bucky’s chest. “I guess…” he began, smirking as Steve sat up and placed Bucky’s ankles delicately on his muscular shoulders as he angled his cock in. Bucky got a full view of the tattoos across Steve’s chest and abs, and then watched as the scripted letters on Steve’s knuckles traveled to Bucky’s neck. 

Steve’s hand clasped around him, holding him but not squeezing, and with the look of an animal, Steve was grinning right back at him. “You guess?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, and it was the only warning that Bucky got until Steve was pushing inside of him. “You  _ guess-- _ ” 

Bucky’s legs clamped around Steve’s neck playfully, his fingers tugging on Steve’s hair. “I guess I’ll let you finish,” he sighed, lifting his hips, and Steve’s pretty eyes flashed at that. Then, Steve was knocking Bucky’s legs from his shoulders and slipped a meaty arm underneath Bucky to pull them flush together. 

“You’ll let me?” he repeated, his breath coming in pants now as he kissed Bucky’s neck, easing him up and down his thick shaft. “Bucky, please.” 

Steve shifted him in his lap, moving Bucky’s legs around behind him as Bucky leaned back, watching Steve’s eyes skate hungrily down the front of his body to the view of him thrusting into Bucky’s hole, both of them caught in fascination watching Steve’s cock bury itself inside of him. 

Bucky almost came right then and there. 

He caught Steve’s eye and Steve leaned forward, grabbing Bucky’s hand and directing it to his own cock that was lying against his stomach. “Touch yourself,” Steve said, watching Bucky with a glimmer in his eye like the blond was testing him. “Tell me when you’re gonna come.” 

Bucky felt his cheeks flush. He fought the flutter of laughter that started to bubble up in his throat in his nervousness, but the way Steve was looking at him…  _ watching  _ him, waiting… Bucky soaked up the attention eagerly. 

“Bucky,” he cut in when Bucky made no move to do as Steve suggested. “Come on, Doc, it’s not complicated. And anyway,” Steve added, a hint of playfulness in his tone, “aren’t you the one who needs to let me finish before you go to work?” 

He grinned again and opened his mouth to give Steve another snarky remark but as if he knew what was coming, Steve gave him a particularly compelling thrust, hitting someplace deep, deep,  _ deep  _ inside of him. Bucky moaned, biting into his lip before he started to pump himself. His movements started off shaky, but as Steve continued to ram into him, he found his rhythm, matching Steve’s. 

It gave him an odd moment of gratification to watch Steve’s breath catch. How the teasing vanished from his baby blue eyes and a look of utter fucking starvation came over him as Bucky kept fucking into his fist. If he were alone, he would have closed his eyes, let his head fall back, placed himself somewhere  _ else _ , somewhere solidly in his imagination-- but instead, bold in his curiosity, he locked eyes with Steve, watching something primal flash in his gaze as Steve stared at him, transfixed. 

“Tell me,” Steve said again, clearing his throat as he licked the dryness from his lips. “Tell me when you’re--” 

“Close,” Bucky murmured, feeling the familiar itching grow inside of him. “I’m close-- Steve--” 

Steve leaned forward with a growl, maneuvering Bucky with an alarmingly swift burst of power to throw Bucky’s back against the pillows of his bed. Steve positioned himself above him and hiked Bucky’s legs over his tattooed pelvic bone to continue hitting the spot that had Bucky seeing stars. Steve grabbed Bucky’s wrists and raised them over his head, pressing them into the pillows, too. Bucky cried out at the loss of his hand wrapped around his own cock, but before Bucky understood what he lost, Steve was bracing himself against the mattress and drove into Bucky’s body, hard and fast and focused and-- oh  _ fuck _ \--

“Steve,” he gasped, shutting his eyes as he felt himself spurt over his chest, his body trembling as Steve gave no mercy. 

“Bucky,” Steve gritted out breathlessly, “ _ Buck-- _ ” 

Bucky felt the warmth fill him up from the inside as Steve fell against him. Not able to form words, Bucky panted as he ran his fingers up and down Steve’s spine, waiting for them both to catch their breath. 

It took a moment for his mind to settle back in, but when it did--  _ have to shower, have to get dressed, have to have breakfast,  _ and loudly, with a violent bang,  _ I’m in a stranger’s house--  _ it was deafening. He felt himself stiffen and Steve shifted, propping himself on his elbows to look at him. 

“I suppose you should go to work, then,” Steve suggested, looking oddly like the thought had pained him. “Since you’re so eager to get there,” he added, smirking. 

Bucky tried to nod, tried to stay relaxed and somehow confident, but… “I don’t normally do things like this,” he blurted out hurriedly, as he suddenly remembered the circumstances of what had happened between them. “I mean,” he clarified, slightly horrified with himself, “I don’t make it a habit to, um,” he bit into his lip, “ _ stalk _ my patients.” 

“You didn’t,” Steve assured him, resting his chin against Bucky’s chest. “And I can tell,” he added, tracing invisible designs against Bucky’s skin with his fingers. “That this isn’t normal for you, I mean. The doctor thing gives it away,” he explained, meeting Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky, uncomfortable with the brashness of Steve’s gaze, focused his attention elsewhere, identifying the letters tattooed on his fingers. 

“What does it spell on your hands?” he asked, catching one of them. 

“The City,” Steve answered. “It’s a, um… personal philosophy.” 

“Philosophy?” Bucky echoed. 

“Well, I guess I can’t really claim credit,” Steve said, watching Bucky play with his fingers. “It’s a quote, ‘The City is what it is because our citizens are what they are’,” he explained. 

Bucky frowned. “Is that Plato?” 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, looking impressed, as though their roles were somehow reversed; as though Bucky was not the highly educated surgeon, and Steve wasn’t the would-be gang member with a hold blown through his shoulder. “Most people don’t recognize it,” Steve said. “Which is fine, as it doesn’t really fit with my whole…  _ everything _ .” 

“Which is?” Bucky asked and he raised a curious brow. He was, afterall, baffled and eager to know just exactly what Steve considered himself. 

“I appreciate you not leaping to judge, Barnes,” Steve said drily, “but I suspect you can tell by looking.” 

Bucky shrugged, trying to feign cluelessness but opting to change the subject instead, wanting to avoid the implications of Steve’s answer. 

“What do you do?” he asked curiously. “Something in government, then?” 

Steve laughed at that, a scoffing, jarring laugh. “Me?” he said, shaking his head. “Barnes, you might be a fucking genius of a doctor, but you could really use a lesson on who exactly counts as  _ government  _ in this town.” 

“So what’s the significance of the City, then?” he asked. “If you’re not some kind of social activist--” 

“I never said I wasn’t  _ that _ ,” he cut in. “That's a pretty significant distinction from being involved in government to simply being active in society, don’t you think?” 

_ Vigilante justice, that kind of thing,  _ Bucky remembered Matt saying. 

“It’s just an oddly political statement,” Bucky said, treading carefully. “ _ Surprisingly _ political.” 

“Well, I already told you, didn’t I?” Steve reminded him, shrugging. “It doesn’t fit me.” 

“True,” Bucky nodded, still tracing over the dark ink across Steve’s knuckles. “I guess I don’t normally think of great sex and an allegience to the Ancient philosopy stuck in the same body,” he conceded, giving Steve a smile. 

“Well, there’s no need to place limits on your imagination, Doc,” Steve said, a laughing glint in his eye as he gestured to himself. “I’m plenty real.” 

Bucky felt his smile fall.  _ Not real enough,  _ he thought, feeling an unexpected surge of disappointment. 

“I guess I should go,” he murmured after a moment, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “And I guess it’s also not part of your ‘everything’ to expect that I might see you again?” 

To his surprise, he caught the flash of insult in Steve’s expression again. “You think I wouldn’t want to do this again?” he asked. “I would,” Steve informed him, pulling himself up. “In a fucking heartbeat. You just can’t ever come back here.” 

“Why not?” Bucky asked, sitting up as Steve bent over to pick up the clothes that had been discarded around the room, pausing only to step into a pair of black boxer-briefs. “Are you--” Bucky paused to look around, searching for faces on the walls, or a mark on Steve’s finger. Signs of  _ something _ . “Are you married or something?” 

Steve straightened abruptly, fixing Bucky with a stern look of disapproval. “Am I  _ married _ ?” he echoed, huffing in disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous, Barnes. It’s nothing like that.” He left the room to go grab Bucky’s clothes, coming back only a few seconds later to hand them to him. 

“What’s it like, then?” Bucky asked. “You have to admit, it’s sort of hard to understand why you’d want to see me again and then still be so adamant that I can’t be here.” 

“Well, it shouldn’t be that hard to understand the first part, should it?” Steve asked vacantly, pausing to glance at Bucky as he threw a shirt over his head. “The wanting to see you again bit, I mean.” Steve let his gaze flick appreciatively over Bucky, and Bucky felt an odd tingling of pride at the blond’s open admiration. “As for the rest of it…” Steve shrugged. “It’s just better if you don’t ask questions.” 

“Comforting,” Bucky said flatly, and Steve glanced at him, chuckling. 

“Listen, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m something that makes sense for you,” Steve warned. “If you’ve got a late night and you’re-- I don’t know, looking for someone who can operate his cock properly, I won’t say no.” Steve walked towards him, leaning over to bite lightly on Bucky’s shoulder. “You’d better go,” he said, gesturing to the ripped underwear that he’d draped across Bucky’s loosely folded jeans. “Might want to grab a new pair before work,” he tossed out innocently, giving Bucky a wink and then disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. 

Bucky was… a lot of things. He felt a lot of things, too, but he refused to deal with them while still feeling the after effects of a mind-shattering orgasm. He sighed, slipping from the bed and getting into his jeans, pulling on his t-shirt before following after Steve. His cardigan stayed bunched up in his hands but he almost dropped it as once he arrived at the table, Steve tossed him an apple. 

“Apple a day,” Steve said, and naturally, Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Cute,” Bucky informed him, watching as Steve shrugged before walking over to turn on his coffeemaker. 

“That’s not a word people normally use to describe me,” he called over his shoulder, “but for you, I guess I’ll let it go.” 

“I bet they don’t,” Bucky murmured to himself, watching Steve from where he stood as he packed up his bag. “You know…” he said, louder, “you might be ideal if you weren’t so enigmatic,” Bucky declared, glancing up at him. 

“Or, maybe if I weren’t enigmatic, I wouldn’t be ideal,” Steve countered. Bucky only shrugged. “Face it, Barnes,” Steve said flatly, “if you’re even half of the adventurer you say you are, then you wouldn’t fucking want me if I were easy for you to figure out.” 

“Fair,” Bucky said, and he meant it completely. “Wish I could say the same about me,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, I think I was incredibly easy,” he sighed, throwing his bag over his shoulder. His teeth found the meat of his bottom lip, biting into it. 

“Hey,” Steve said quickly, closing the distance between them and reaching for his arm. “I’m never going to hold it against you for knowing what you want.” Steve stepped in close, blocking Bucky momentarily as he turned to leave. “It’s hot, Doc,” Steve informed him boldly, smoothing his hair behind his ears. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

“Yeah, well,” Bucky whispered, trying not to go soft as Steve slid his hands to Bucky’s waist, pressing a kiss to the side of Bucky’s neck. “If we’re gauging who’s a bigger mystery--” 

“You, I’d bet,” Steve interrupted, tugging Bucky’s hair back with one hand to brush their lips together. “My secrets are barely skin deep.” 

Bucky thought of the marks across Steve’s chest, the bold ‘A’ and the Avengers scripture down his forearm. The secrets that those tattoos must hold…

I’d be willing to guess there’s a lot more to you than there is to me,” Steve whispered, though Bucky very much doubted that was true. “But,” Steve said, louder, giving Bucky a swift kiss on the lips and then a light slap on Bucky’s assk, “I won’t be finding out, as I’d only fuck up your life. I guarantee it.” 

Bucky took a deep breath, recognizing a losing argument. He nodded, walking to the door before turning to give Steve one last look. “So,” he began tentatively, “next time I need…” 

“The next time you need a good fuck, let me know,” Steve agreed, leaning back against the kitchen table. “But don’t come back here, Barnes,” he warned, and Bucky tried not to watch as the blond slipped his gun back into his waistband. “I mean it.” 

“I won’t,” he promised, squaring his shoulders. “Bye, Steve.” 

“See ya, Doc,” Steve said back, a twitch in his step like he might have stopped him, but then he turned around, heading into his kitchen. Bucky let Steve’s front door fall shut behind him, reasonably convinced that he’d meant it when he said goodbye.

* * *

Steve

* * *

“So,” Sam said, swinging his leg over his bike, “are you going to tell me what the fuck you were doing last night?” 

“Nope,” Steve answered, removing his helmet. “And surprisingly, I think you’ll live.” 

“Nat asked me where you were, y’know,” Sam said casually, “And while you know how well the two of us get along, all of her conversation topics come directly from the chain of command, meaning Pierce was asking about you.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, “Fucking hell, it was one night,” he muttered. “I was tired.” 

“You weren’t entertaining visitors, then?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows, and at that, Steve paused. 

His eyes narrowed as he glanced over at his friend, seeing that look on Sam’s face. “Okay,” he relented, crossing his arms over his chest. “What is it?” 

Sam glanced around them before leaning close. “You know Pierce is watching all of us,” he said carefully. “You’re going to have to be more careful.” 

“Look, Pierce doesn’t get to tell me where to put my dick, okay?” Steve said irritably, trying to shove the pretty doctor’s wide icy blue eyes out of the forefront of his mind. “Unless I’m supposed to get my fucks pre-approved now--” 

“You know,” Sam interrupted, in a way that suggested he hadn’t really been listening, “I love you, brother, but sometimes I think you overplay your luck.” 

The statement was so jarringly tangential that Steve stopped mid-stride. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, turning to face Sam. “What, you don’t believe me?” 

“No, I definitely believe you,” Sam said with a smirk. “And you can put all this on--” he gestured to Steve’s face of indignation and the stubborn thrust of his shoulders, “-- and maybe you can fool Pierce, but you can’t fucking pretend I don’t know you.” He shook his head. “I’m just saying, Steve, that you don’t get to deviate a step and then wonder why people ask questions.” 

Even from Sam, it was an unsettling point. 

“Pierce doesn’t have any issues with me,” Steve said slowly, finding his voice. “He’s got no reason to have me watched.” 

“He has  _ everyone  _ watched,” Sam retorted, swatting at Steve as if he were an irritating fly. “He doesn’t need a damn reason, and you can fucking-- I don’t know, try to alpha dog  _ me  _ all you want, Steve, but that shit’s not gonna work on Pierce.”

“You’re full of shit,” Steve grumbled. “Pierce trusts me. He likes me,” he added, thinking of Pierce’s nod of approval when he’d called after Fisk. “I don’t think he’s going to get worked up about what I do on my own time.” 

Sam let out a loud string of laughter. Being dramatic as always, he even pretended to swipe at an imaginary tear, flicking it to the side. “Wake up, Steve,” he said, straightening up suddenly, turning serious. “Pierce likes you because you follow orders. It’s not trust and it’s definitely not goddamn  _ affection  _ or  _ loyalty-- _ ” 

“Look, it’s not going to happen again, okay?” Steve cut in, bristling at the words and then feeling the hollow ache at their implication. “It was a one time thing.” 

“You get what I’m saying though, right?” Sam pressed, reaching out to grip Steve’s shoulder. “I’m on your side here, man, and it’s bullshit that he had Barton check up on you, but you can’t just fuck up for the sake of fucking up and then act like Pierce’s going to forgive it.” 

Steve swallowed, trying not to focus on the ramifications of what Sam had just said. 

“He had Barton check on me?” he asked instead. “What did he say?” 

“Said there was a car outside your apartment and that it was obvious it didn’t belong to your neighbors,” Sam said, shrugging. “Pierce has been paranoid as hell since Hydra started making threats.” 

“Hydra surfaced again?” Steve asked, startled. “Was that last night, too?” 

“Yeah-- fuck yeah, it’s why Nelson and Murdock were at the tower,” Sam nodded. “Which is what I was trying to tell you, y’know, when you rudely rejected me for whatever goody-two-shoes ass you were getting yourself into.” 

“Goody-two-shoes?” Steve repeated, watching Sam shrug. 

“A Prius, man,” Sam grinned at him. “You trying to tell me that’s Carter’s?” 

“Point taken,” Steve muttered, and dragged his attention back to the subject at hand. “So what happened with Murdock?”

“Apparently he knows about Rollins and Rumlow,” Sam answered. “They went to school together in Hell’s Kitchen way back when. Also told us someone came into the station saying that some thug had shown up to threaten someone in their family, I guess. Witnesses identified Rumlow so Murdock wanted to talk to us about it.” 

“Who was it?” Steve asked. “One of us?” 

Sam nodded, before frowning. “Sort of,” he said. “Remember Thor’s ex? The one that got clean and booked for the West Coast? Danvers, or whatever her name was?” 

Steve almost rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he answered. “Carol. She got close with Sharon for a bit.” 

“Yeah, well, apparently she’s back in town now and it turns out that her aunt is a county judge,” Sam explained. “Sort of some convoluted shit, but she got some kind of threat, I guess, something about a case she’s got coming up-- Murdock didn’t tell us much-- but the gift of it is somehow Rumlow is implicated, and since they’d heard we had some problems with his boss, they came to chat about it.” 

“Seems far fetched,” Steve said, rubbing at his beard as his thoughts started to scatter in every direction. “Are we sure Fisk isn’t wrong and it was just Murdock poking around without a warrant? We may not know the guy but Nelson surely wouldn’t mind pulling a stint like that.” 

“They weren’t there long,” Sam said, shaking his head. “And  _ obviously _ , since we don’t know shit about Hydra or any of their members, we weren’t much help.” 

“Yeah,” Steve scoffed in agreement, instinctively bringing a hand up to grip his shoulder. “Definitely never met ‘em.” 

Sam chuckled, pulling the door open to the shop, and they paused as they entered, catching a familiar face in uniform. 

“Nelson,” Steve recognized grimly, internally groaning as the other man turned around. “I know I missed the joy of your presence yesterday, but I can’t say that means I want to see you now.” 

“Rogers,” Nelson returned, equally sourly, and stepped forward to reveal a glimpse of his partner, a dark-haired officer who looked like he was the kind of man to pull out a badge as an introduction. The other officer’s brows were furrowed heavily as he eyed something in front of him, unbothered by their entrance. “Believe me,” Nelson said tightly, “it’s no thrill to be back.” 

“Can’t get enough, though, can you,” Sam said with a grin just as Lange, the newest addition to the Avengers, appeared through the garage entrance. 

“Boys,” Lange said, nodding to them and then gesturing to the two cops. “Officers, have you spoken to these two yet?” 

“Ah, no,” the dark-haired deputy said, noticing them and stepping forward, pushing his hand out. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Officer Murdock.” 

Steve eyed the offered hand and made a show of ignoring it, crossing his arms over his chest instead. Murdock got the hint and let his hand fall to his side. “Pleasure,” Steve said airily. “Steve Rogers.” 

“Ah,” Murdock said, and from his sidelong glance at Nelson’s look of moody disinterest, Steve guessed Nelson had filled his partner in on their mutual dislike for one another. “Well,” Murdock cleared his throat, straightening, “I don’t mean to bother you too long. It seems like there was a problem with your alarm system, and the department was alerted.” 

“And they sent the deputy chief for  _ that _ ?” Steve asked curiously, arching a brow. “For an alarm malfunction?” 

“That’s what I said,” Nelson muttered. 

“Well,” Murdock said, covertly pointing a look at his partner, “Fisk asked me to stop by, so I figured it was worth looking into. Mr. Lange here says you haven’t been having any problems with the system, so I figured we’d double check.” 

“Thorough,” Steve mused. “Nice to see our tax dollars being put to use so rewardingly.” 

Murdock blinked as if he was unsure how to respond. There was a sharpness to him though, and Steve definitely wasn’t hallucinating the amused curl of Murdock’s lips. “Just doing our jobs,” Murdock said. 

_ A safe answer,  _ Steve ruled, and shrugged. 

“I assume that’s all, then?” Sam asked. “All done in here, gentlemen?” 

Nelson seemed as if he wanted to say something, but Murdock beat him to it. “Actually,” Murdock began, “no, I don’t believe so.” 

“What?” Nelson turned toward him, frowning. “What more could we possibly--” 

“Listen, it’s not a secret that you’ve got some kind of reason to be worried about Hydra,” Murdock said, eyeing Steve closely. “For whatever that reason is.” 

“That isn’t my business,” Steve said, and Murdock shrugged. 

“Your boss’s, then,” Murdock corrected, though Steve could tell it was just a save. “In any case, I wouldn’t write this one off, knowing Hydra’s behavior. If you ask me, I’d guess they were testing your security.” 

Steve felt ice shoot down his spine. Beside him, he watched as Sam stiffened. “Hydra?” Steve asked, pretending to be stunned. “You think a drug-running gang is fucking with our auto repair shop?” 

“Well, them, or one of them is, at least,” Murdock nodded. “Rumlow or Rollins, or maybe even the whole group. There’s clearly nothing here and nothing is missing or out of place, but alarms don’t just go off…” 

“True,” Sam murmured, looking impressed in spite of himself by Murdock’s assertion that sabotage was at play here. Or at least Steve was. 

“... and since you’ve never had problems before, it’s a little too conveniently timed,” Murdock concluded. “If Hydra’s got it in for you…  _ business-- _ ,” he said, looking as though he might have preferred to use another word, “--then I’d tighten up security. The good news is whatever they were looking for, response time or whatever, you’re probably in good shape.” 

If the danger of Hydra wasn’t hanging over his head, he may have laughed. Never in all his life would he have ever assumed the Avengers were relying on the goddamn police force for protection. Although in truth, they weren’t relying on a fucking thing. It was just… nice… to have the cops in their back pockets for once. 

Still, it almost felt too good to be true. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, regarding the new deputy. “How’d you manage to get here so fast anyways? Despite all the lunch traffic?” 

Murdock paused. Steve was beginning to realize the man did that alot, as if he was thinking carefully of his response; don’t give too much away, don’t give too little. And there was that curve of his mouth again, like he was seeing things that the others weren’t. “Yeah, we managed it,” Murdock said eventually, before turning back to Lange. “So in any case, I’ve got you as the shop contact on here, Mr. Lange, and while I can’t really offer you anything with any notable degree of certainty--” 

“It’s fine,” Scott said, leaning back against the counter, “we  _ love  _ ambiguous threats.” 

“-- I’d just consider making some changes to your security system,” Murdock finished. “You know, try not to be too predictable, try not to leave anyone who might be particularly vulnerable here alone, that sort of thing.” He turned, gesturing to Nelson. “Got everything?” 

“Yeah,” Nelson said gruffly, and moved to follow his partner out the door, pausing to clip his shoulder against Steve’s. 

“Watch it,” Steve growled, and Nelson met his eye, flashing him a loathing glare. 

“Whatever your problem is with Hydra,” Nelson said quietly, so that only Steve could hear, “and whatever your boss has gotten into, take care of it. Keep it out of our streets.” 

“Sweet of you to worry, Nelson, but we’ve got our house in order,” Steve murmured back, letting an elbow collide sharply with the officer’s ribs. “Try to make it a couple days without coming back to see us, would you?” he added, calling over his shoulder. 

Nelson’s mouth tightened into a thin line. 

“Foggy,” Murdock called from the doorway, staring between them. “Let’s go.” 

“Yeah,” Nelson said again, his hand clenching into a fist. “Yeah, I’ll keep my distance, Rogers.” 

The two officers turned, walking out of the shop in silence. Scott sighed, pursing his lips in disapproval as he glanced between Steve and Sam. 

“You two fuckers,” Scott cackled, laughing like a madman. “One of these days I’m gonna laugh my ass off when one of them hauls either of you off to jail,” he said, clutching at his stomach as he disappeared into a side room. 

Steve and Sam watched him go. Neither of them were entirely… confident in Pierce’s decision to allow Lange into the group. Mostly Lange stuck to the garage, a  _ true  _ mechanic compared to the rest of them. Still, there were things that neither of them addressed until the man was clear out of the room. 

Sam leaned over the desk, rifling through paperwork for the day’s repairs. “What do you think Nelson hates more,” he mused, pausing to glance at Steve, “that you took his cousin's virginity or that you beat the shit out of him in high school?” 

“Ha,” Steve scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like she threw it at me  _ and  _ anyone else she could. And I only beat him up cause I caught him trying to key my car, the little fucker.” 

Sam nodded, a big smile on his face. “I was right about Murdock, though, wasn’t I? Kind of a weird dude, right?” 

“What was it you called him?” Steve asked. “Earnest? Because you’re right, he’s  _ really  _ fucking earnest.” 

“So fucking earnest!” Sam said, slamming down a hand decisively. “Like, fucking  _ wildly  _ by the book, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, frowning. “I don’t know what that says about Fisk, then,” he admitted uneasily. “I don’t think Murdock is even  _ close  _ to as pliable as Fisk thinks he is.” 

“Well, there’s definitely no way Murdock is going to play dirty on this one, especially not with Nelson for a partner,” Sam said. “Whatever Fisk promised Fisk for the future… we honestly might be fucked.” 

“Well, what else is new,” Steve said, before smothering a yawn. “Fuck,” he sighed. “I’m tired.” 

“Up late?” Sam asked, grinning, but Steve shook his head. 

“Up early,” he corrected. “ _ Too _ fucking early.” 

“Was it worth it?” Sam asked, rummaging through the paperwork on the desk to find an invoice. 

“Yeah,” Steve answered, the memory of Bucky burning through his mind. “Yeah. It was really fucking worth it,” he mumbled to himself, still feeling the pressure of Bucky’s hands on his chest. 

Too bad he’d probably never see him again. 


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky

* * *

“I am also capable of driving myself, you know,” Bucky sighed, climbing carefully into the front seat of Baron’s car. “You don’t have to show up to kidnap me every time you two want to have a drink.” 

“Ooh, good, you actually dressed up,” Wanda gasped from the backseat, leaning forward to give Bucky a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. “And yes, actually, we do have to kidnap you, otherwise who knows where you’d be… maybe suturing bananas, fluffing pillows, I don’t know-- pretending to not be dating Matt, I guess--” 

“I’m not pretending!” he insisted, pulling at his collar and shifting in his seat to pull his loafer-clad feet in to shut the door. “We’re  _ just friends _ \--” 

“We know,” Baron said, flashing him a smile. “Or at least, Heike and I do, anyway.” He gestured to Wanda. “ _ This _ one, however, is having a harder time maintaining a handle on her delusions.” 

“Listen,” Wanda said loudly, “I just think I’d have a lot easier time shamelessly trying to sleep with Jarvis if you were doing the same,” she concluded, throwing herself back against the seat with a shrug. 

“Jarvis?” Bucky asked, glancing at her. “The British guy in charge of the IT department at the hospital?”

Wanda smiled at him and Bucky refused to consider that her bedroom look. “Oh yeah,” she hummed. She opened her mouth as if to continue on but Baron was silencing her, professing he didn’t want to hear about it. Given how excited she had gotten, Bucky doubted he wanted to either. 

“The fact is, is that regardless of your situation with Jarvis, Bucky has definitely been sleeping with someone,” Baron said with a smirk, putting the car in reverse. “Aren’t you?” 

Bucky stiffened as he felt all eyes turn to him. “No,” he protested stubbornly, feeling his cheeks flush. Though, it wasn’t a lie, not exactly. It had been a week since he’d seen Steve, after all. 

A fact that he was painfully aware of. 

“Oh please,” Wanda drawled, scoffing. “I don’t know why you insist on lying to us. We’re sort of geniuses, you know--” 

“Yes,” Baron agreed. “Incredible geniuses. And we definitely took notice of the infamously punctual James Barnes sprinting through the halls last week, hair still damp--” 

“So I overslept  _ one  _ time,” Bucky groaned, cutting him off. “What are you two, my parents?” 

“I don’t know, Dad,” Wanda mused, reaching up to smack Baron’s shoulder affectionately. “Think Bucky-Bear is lying to us?” 

“I think he is, Mom,” Baron agreed, turning to wrinkle his nose playfully at him. “Is he grounded, do you think? Should we send him to his room?”

“Not funny,” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“No, Dad, I think it’s better for both of us if we get him completely wasted instead,” Wanda said with a nod. “I mean, really, why should we have to suffer for Bucky’s terrible misbehaviors?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I hate you both,” he told them, just as Baron and Wanda locked eyes in the rearview mirror, laughing. 

“Teenagers,” Baron sighed, shrugging. “What can you do?” 

“They always hate their parents,” Wanda said solemnly, reaching up to finger one of the strays of Bucky’s loose hair. “And after all we’ve done for you--” 

“Yes,” Baron continued dramatically. “And how  _ hard  _ we work--” 

“ _ Okay _ , I get it, you’re both hilarious,” he drawled out. But looking out the window as they drove, he thought that maybe he should just let them think he was dating Matt. It would certainly make things easier, or would at least mean that they’d leave him alone. He’d certainly seen plenty of Matt over the last few weeks, and he was undeniably fond of Matt-- which is why it wasn’t a shock that Matt was the only friend that Bucky had apart from Wanda and Baron, who both had their own lives outside of the hospital. Maybe he should just  _ actually  _ date Matt.

Of course, that would be to first assume Bucky would eventually be able to tear his thoughts away from--

“We’re here,” Baron announced, putting the car in park and killing the engine, then stepping out to help Wanda exit from the backseat. Wanda glanced at the building in front of them, pulling a face before facing Baron. 

“It’s our day off tomorrow,” she whined, “can’t we have a real night out somewhere that isn’t in this part of the city?”

“Free booze, remember?” Baron reminded them, only to have Wanda making a noise in her throat. 

“You just want to spend time with your girlfriend,” Wanda corrected him. She was wearing a tight red dress that certainly had Bucky’s eyebrows raising, but considering how Wanda was whipping out her phone and sending a message, he could only assume that she was sending their coordinates to a certain mister somebody. 

“You’re certainly not wrong,” Baron said, nodding. “Now let’s go. I want to see how many drinks we can get into Bucky before he pukes his guts out.” 

Bucky flicked them both off, but propelled himself forward as they started for the entrance. When they entered, the room seemed to go hushed all of a sudden. 

“Hey, the surgeons are here,” Heike noted cheerfully, looking up as they entered. It was somewhat still early and the Red Room was mostly empty, making Bucky feel particularly out of place in his open collared shirt and tight pants. From the bar, a handful of other heads turned around and Bucky felt a rush of relief as he caught sight of Matt. Bucky was quick to beeline right for the man. 

“Doctors and cops, huh? Now the real deviance can begin,” Matt declared, a smile floating over his lips as he stood up to greet him. 

“Hi,” he murmured, accepting Matt’s hug and ignoring how Baron leaned over the bar and pecked Heike’s lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Same,” Matt agreed, passing a hand through his hair. “It’s a lot less pressure having you here, you know. Gives me someone to talk to,” he added, gesturing behind him to where Foggy was pressed up against some blonde woman batting her long, superficial eyelashes at him. “Which I suspected I was going to need.” 

Bucky laughed gently as Matt handed him his drink. “Here, take this,” Matt advised, watching as Bucky brought the glass up to his lips and took a sip. It was Jack and coke, Bucky realized, which wasn’t something that disappointed him. “At least we have each other now.” 

He let the flavor slide down his throat, embracing the warmth that spread through him. “Yeah,” Bucky nodded, smiling. “Thank God for that. Plus, I’m starting to think having a night off from good behavior wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he added, watching as everyone settled in at the bar. 

He was faintly aware that Matt was still watching him but he didn’t face him again until Matt was asking, “So, how was work?”

“Pretty standard,” he answered with a shrug. “Watched Wanda scrub in today… which is why I think she’s so eager for her guy to show up. She needs an outlet to let off--” 

“Some steam?” Matt finished for him, raising an eyebrow and flashing Bucky a smile. 

"Yep," Bucky said, chewing on the straw of his -  _ Matt’s _ , he reminded himself, whoops - drink. "Oh, sorry," he laughed apologetically, realizing. "Let me get you something - "

"You're good," Heike called, sliding a glass down the bar. "I got you."

"Such good service," Bucky remarked playfully, "but I've already-- "

"No, drink them both," Matt instructed, grinning. "I'll get another." He gestured to Heiki, who nodded and winked, prepping another glass.

Bucky followed Matt as he made his way closer to the bar, leaning against it while they waited. "So?" he asked, finishing Matt’s drink and moving onto his own. "How was your day at work?"

"Not bad," Matt replied, shrugging. "Though Foggy’s been a little -” His voice died down as he shrugged, like there were too many words to say all at once. “I mean, it’s bearable, but it’s certainly not ideal,” he explained, grimacing. “At this point, though, I can't say I blame him. Fisk isn’t exactly - "

Matt hesitated, and for some reason, Bucky chuckled. "Not exactly what?"

Slowly, Matt shook his head. "Let's just say I've been spending a lot of time at the Tower," he explained, "which isn’t exactly Foggy’s favorite place."

"The Tower," Bucky repeated, his heart skipping quietly. "The Avernger’s place?"

"Yeah," Matt said, pausing. Heike passed Matt his drink and he raised it to his lips, taking a sip. "They're having some problems with someone from a rival gang in the next district over." He stopped, letting the drink settle on his tongue for a minute before swallowing. “They’re called Hydra. Nothing but bad news.” 

"Huh," Bucky remarked absently, trying not to look as apprehensive as he felt as he recalled Matt bringing it up before. "And here I thought you said the Avengers weren't a gang."

"To be totally honest, I don't really know what to make of them yet," Matt commented warily. "They seem to be in a sort of . . . state of transition, I guess you could say." He took another sip and Bucky mirrored him, fighting his curiosity as the liquid burned down his throat. "Did you say you knew one of them?" he asked, eyeing Bucky closely.

"No, not really," he answered quickly. "I, um - saw one. In the hospital. The tattoo," he explained, gesturing to his chest. "I was curious."

"Yeah, they're an odd bunch," Matt agreed, tilting his head. "It's funny, they pass themselves off as mechanics running some auto shop.” Bucky found it difficult to imagine Steve covered in grease. Tattoos, yes, and leather and black clothes, sure, but dirty? Nope. Steve may be a tough looking guy, but he certainly wasn’t the type to have grime under his fingernails. "And for some of them, that makes a lot of sense. But for others - " Matt shook his head. "Some of them seem a little too clever, you know?"

Bucky eyed him carefully, trying to understand just what Matt was getting at, and he asked as much. "What are you saying? Too smart for blue collar work?” he questioned, raising a brow. “I mean,  _ I  _ couldn't fix a car," he informed Matt, shrugging. "I'd have an easier time with an aorta, I think, than anything with an engine."

"No, no, I'm not saying that," Matt corrected quickly. "It's just that Pierce is - " he paused again, almost flinching, and Bucky felt a brief, helpless shudder of concern. "I just have some doubts about what's really going on over there. It's not like Hydra is suddenly coming after them for no reason," he clarified slowly. "They've always had more money than really makes sense, for one thing, and a couple of them are just - "

He stopped again, frowning, and Bucky patted his shoulder. "It's fine," he assured him, despite desperately wanting to continue the conversation, if only to unlock another piece of Steve Rogers. "We shouldn't be talking about work anyway."

"Yeah," Matt agreed, straightening. "I mean, we could be here all night if we decided we wanted to sift through the mystery that is the Avengers."

"That enigmatic, huh?" he asked, and immediately regretted it.

_ You might be ideal if you weren't so enigmatic _ -

He tried to shove it aside -

_ Or, maybe if I weren't enigmatic, I wouldn't be ideal - _

\- and failed.

"In any event, Fisk is obsessed with them," Matt said, his voice cutting through Bucky’s thoughts as he looked up, watching Matt shake his head. "Which is making Foggy furious, for one thing, and making me worry that he might be - "

"You're not talking about work, are you?" Foggy interrupted sharply, shoving himself between them as he launched himself over the bar, raised his arm to get Heike’s attention.

"Christ, Nelson, pace yourself," Baron commented, materializing to give Foggy a light shove aside. "Don't tell me you're still a lightweight - "

That had Baron turning toward Bucky, grinning. “Y’know, we still haven’t found out if you can handle your liquor. Honey, gives us a few shots, will you? It’s time to make Bucky’s world here take a spin.” 

Bucky was already starting to shake his head no, refusing to get shit-faced, but Matt was already nodding and reaching for the glass, pushing it toward him. “C’mon, Barnes, take a load off,” Matt was urging him on, too. 

Bucky was never one to back down from a challenge. “Alright, alright,” he grinned before grabbing the glass. 

"Bottoms up?" Matt suggested brightly, clinking his shot glass against Bucky’s.

Instead of making an innuendo that begged to be said, Bucky took a deep breath. “Guess so,” he muttered before throwing back the whiskey and letting the ill-advised warmth of it float straight to his head as Matt flashed him an indulgent smile.

* * *

Steve

* * *

"Well," Sam said loudly, "this is fucking stupid."

"You can be the voice of reason all you want," Steve remarked listlessly. "But that still doesn't change the fact that we're here, so you might as well just go with it."

"I can't believe he found another buyer," Sam grumbled, ignoring him. "Exactly how many people are looking for fucking guns, anyway?"

"Enough," Steve said, crossing his arms. "Let's just get this over with, okay?" At Sam’s shrug, he sighed. "And do me a favor, would you?" he added tightly. "Try not to look so goddamn guilty this time."

"While I would love to take credit for getting you shot, Steve, I really don't think that was my bad," Sam muttered. "Does this guy at least know - "

"He's there," Steve said, jutting his chin out and smacking Sam in the abdomen. "Shut up."

They waited as the plateless black Audi pulled up, flashing its lights once before rolling to a stop beside their vehicle.

"Good," Sam breathed quietly as the driver stepped out. "We're not outnumbered this time."

Steve nodded silently at that, not being able to resist agreeing. 

The man who stepped out of the car walked with an arrogant stride and was far older than they either expected. Then again, considering the man was named Ego, not much had been expected other than some guy with an…  _ exhilarating  _ personality. But watching him approach, the nickname seemed fitting. He had a movie star quality about him, too, not the usual appearance of someone who was willing to meet some strangers off a remote side street to purchase an arsenal of weapons, and he certainly didn’t look like someone who actually knew how to use them. 

"Rogers?" he called, walking towards them with an eerily calculated slickness to his motions.

"Ego," Steve ventured, and the other man nodded.

"Let me see them," Ego said curtly, gesturing, and Steve beckoned obligingly, stepping away from the trunk as Sam popped it open.

"Not bad," Ego commented, looking over the arrangements of weapons in the trunk. "Pierce’s - shall we say, enthusiasm - led me to believe there was some element of urgency involved." He looked up, fixing Steve with an unsettlingly dark stare. "Everything must go?"

Steve shrugged. "Sort of the whole reason of business, isn't it?"

Ego made a face - as though he agreed with the sentiment, but didn't wish to - and huffed softly before returning his attention to the guns, his discerning gaze visibly snagging slightly as he bent over the trunk, eyeing something on the barrel of one of the AKs.

Sam and Steve exchanged wary glances over his head, and Ego looked up, smirking.

"Yes, I know," he informed them curtly, and Steve felt a warning throb in his shoulder, wondering if this man's reaction would be much different from Rollins and Rumlow. " _ But _ ," he clarified heavily, "I traffic these things, not origin stories." He shrugged. "I'm interested in the face value only."

"Black market, then?" Sam guessed, and Ego turned towards him with a razor-like sharpness, shaking his head.

"Boy, has no one taught you when to not ask questions?" he grunted, looking as though he considered smacking the back of Sam’s head. "I'll take them, and that's all you need to know."

"Fine," Steve said firmly, giving Sam a glance. "We don't care where they go from here."

"Yes, I thought as much," Ego mused, crossing his arms to look up at him, "and that's the beauty of it, isn't it?" He gestured to the contents of the trunk. "That there are so many potential buyers who don't care where they came from, either."

"The many and moneyed," Sam quipped, and Ego looked up at him again.

"Tell Alexander I'll take them," he said, fidgeting impatiently with the cuff of his jacket. " _ All _ of them. I want them delivered to my warehouse by the end of the week. Full payment on delivery."

"Done," Steve said, fighting an inward sigh of relief. "I'll tell Pierce."

"Yes, you will," Ego said, slamming the trunk shut and taking a step back, pausing to glance between them before he spoke. "Rumor has it you've been made to carry several messages back to Pierce," he added carefully, meeting Steve’s eye. "This one, I think, will be slightly less intrusive."

"Which is appreciated," Steve admitted tightly, reflexively rolling the stiffness from his shoulder and wondering how the man had known. "Funny, though," he added, "how word can travel."

"There's a bit of chatter in my networks," Ego said, shrugging. "It's not a huge world we live in, you know. It's a rather" - he paused, curling a hand thoughtfully around his bearded jaw- "close-knit community."

"Minus the shooting," Sam tossed out casually.

"Indeed," Ego agreed, teasing his shoulders back, unfazed. "Well, gentlemen," he said, nodding to them, "the end of the week then. I'll have Alexander tell you where to bring them."

"End of the week," Steve confirmed loudly, nodding, and without another word, Ego got back into his car, tilting his head once to consider them before driving away, the tail lights gradually disappearing.

"Well," Sam said, straightening, "what now? Estate planning?"

"Hilarious," Steve said with a grimace. "Let's go," he sighed, turning back to their car. "I need a fucking drink."

"At the Tower?" Sam asked, opening the passenger door. "We have to stop there anyway."

"And chance running into Pierce? No," Steve said, shaking his head. "No. We're fucking going out."

Sam grinned. "Fucking out it is, then, o Captain my Captain," he said, gesturing to the road as Steve started the ignition.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

Bucky hiccuped as he set down the shot glass, making a face. “What the fuck is the point of calling something a buttery nipple?”

"It tastes good," Wanda said, tapping her nose. "Like candy."

"It tastes like diabetes," Bucky corrected, sticking out his tongue.

"I like how feisty you've gotten," Matt commented, shouting a little in Bucky’s ear to combat the rising volume of chatter and music. The spattering of people had grown to a decently large crowd, and Bucky, more drinks in than he cared to admit, was beginning to feel like he didn't actively mind. He paused for a minute before answering - also pausing to wonder if that was Matt’s hand on his upper thigh - but shrugged it off, letting himself be pulled forward as Wanda yanked him into the center of the bar.

"Let's dance," she purred in Bucky’s ear, putting on a show for Jarvis, no doubt, and Bucky rolled his eyes but agreed, feeling the bass thud through his veins and letting his hips sway, watching other people join them and wondering whether or not he might have wanted -

"May I?" Matt said boldly, reaching for Bucky’s hand, and Bucky turned to face him as Wanda sidled up to Jarvis.

"You want to dance?" Bucky asked, surprised, and Matt grinned.

"Why, you think I can't?" he asked, punctuating the statement with an exaggerated roll of his hips, and Bucky laughed, letting himself be pulled against him.

"No, I definitely believe you can," Bucky said, throwing his arms over Matt’s shoulders. "Though I thought we were friends?"

Matt shrugged. "Friends dance," he assured him. "They do other things, too, sometimes - "

"Mm," Bucky agreed, making a face. "Subtle, Matt."

"I'm incredibly subtle," he said solemnly, and as a smile slipped across Matt’s face, Bucky knew he was closer than he should have been - but one too many buttery nipples and maybe Bucky wasn't so sure that was such a bad thing.

Matt wasn't Steve, of course, but -

"Uh oh," Matt muttered, glancing at the entrance. "Foggy’s not going to like this."

"What is it?" Bucky asked, turning, only Matt shook his head.

"Motorcycles," he said, gesturing, and Bucky’s heart flipped and twisted -

"Avengers," Matt concluded flatly.

The door opened, then, and a group of men walked in; the first one was stocky, thickly constructed and the other was leaner, shorter, with a mohawk on his head. Bucky happened to catch a glance from Matt to Foggy and watched a muscle twitch in Foggy’s jaw, a look of pending wariness.

"Is that," Bucky began, trying to draw moisture to his throat, "are they - "

"Odinson and Barton," Matt informed him quickly. "I've met them a few times."

Bucky watched as a third person entered the bar; a lean, fire-cracker redheaded woman who had sharp eyes that reminded Bucky of a cat of some kind, something almost feral. Then there was a dark-skinned man who was quite handsome, with facial hair and dark ink all up and down his biceps, even sporting the cutest gap between his blinding white smirk. They were all tattoos and leather and the longer Bucky stared, he watched as the last man turned to address someone behind him who had yet to walk through the door. 

"Sam Wilson," Matt explained lowly in Bucky’s ear. "Upper member of the group as far as I can tell."

Bucky’s breath caught. "Didn't Foggy say he was - " he swallowed. "Someone's sidekick?"

Matt shrugged. "I suspect he's less a sidekick than he seems, but yes, in a sense," he murmured back. "He's rarely seen without - "

The door opened further and Bucky’s breath stopped completely. His lungs were all but ripped open at the sight of the blond head that ducked its way through the frame -

" - Steve Rogers," Matt finished, his grip tightening on Bucky slightly. "The prince among thieves, or so I imagine he thinks," he added, appearing to find the statement highly unsavory.

"What do you think of him?" he asked, noting that a few feet away, Foggy had clenched a fist, staring openly at Steve like he wished to put him through a wall.

"I'd like him better if he were a little less smart," Matt determined, grimacing. "Foggy’s reasons for hating him - I can take them or leave them. That's just history as far as I'm concerned." He shook his head. "But Rogers is - he's a little  _ too  _ sophisticated," Matt explained hesitantly. "He's less a thug than a clever manipulator," he ruled, "and in my experience, the kind of bully who can get under your skin with a word is a dangerous kind of man."

"He got under your skin?" Bucky asked, surprised.

Matt shrugged indifferently. "Like I said, I'd like him better if he weren't as smart as he is," he concluded. "The others I don’t know too much, so I can’t say I’m surprised they work for Pierce. But Rogers… and even Wilson… they don’t seem the type to be pushed around in some gang. Plus I think Wilson’s loyalty lies more with Rogers than Pierce.” 

"Well, Officer," Bucky teased playfully, trying to ignore Steve’s presence, "what does that tell you?"

"It tells me," Matt returned slowly, "that if the Avengers do get themselves into trouble, it'll be especially dangerous if Rogers is involved. If I were Pierce," Matt added, "I wouldn't trust anything important to most of the Avengers, but with Rogers...- " He paused, frowning. "I just think Pierce can do a lot more damage with Rogers than without him, and I think he knows that too."

"You really get in this Pierce’s guy's head," Bucky commented, suddenly curious. "Why?"

"It's how I do my job," Matt replied, shrugging. "Can't really think like a cop or I'd never sort anything out. You have to think like them," he explained, gesturing across the bar. "Like, for example, I have to imagine that if Rogers is involved, there's something more at play than money. They’ve got plenty of it," he added, "so - "

Matt cut off abruptly, stiffening as he watched Foggy take a step forward. "Hold on," he murmured in Bucky’s ear, and Bucky nodded, watching as Matt released him to take hold of Foggy’s arm.

"What're you doing here?" Foggy demanded, shaking himself loose and stomping towards the group.

"What, we can't get a drink, Nelson?" Wilson asked, crossing his muscled arms over his chest. "How unsurprisingly of you."

"I'm not talking to you," Foggy said through his teeth, and Wilson smirked, gesturing for Steve.

"All yours," Sam muttered, his laughing eyes glinting as Steve took a step forward.

"Nelson," Steve said smoothly, running a hand through his hair. Bucky watched the line of Steve’s forearm, swallowing an urge to shout for his attention. "Murdock," he acknowledged, looking supremely disinterested. "Zemo," he added, nodding at Baron, who - to Bucky’s surprise, nodded back - "and - "

Steve stopped, his gaze falling on Bucky. Bucky held his breath.

"Heiki," Steve called loudly, tearing his eyes away from Bucky’s, "five whiskeys, would you?"

Heike nodded, pulling out the glasses, as Steve returned his attention to Foggy.

"Now, Nelson, where were we," he mused, considering him through narrowed eyes. "You were about to throw a tantrum, right?"

"Careful, Rogers," Foggy seethed, and Bucky watched Matt’s grip on Foggy’s arm renew itself and tighten. "Don't forget what I am."

"How could I?" Steve asked, shrugging. His gaze flicked helplessly to Bucky’s and Bucky took a step back, blending into the group of people around them. "You've been showing up every goddamn day to remind me, haven't you - " he looked down, his nose wrinkling ever so slightly as he leaned into the word, " _ Officer _ ?"

"Not for your sake," Foggy snarled. "I don't give a shit what happens to you. To any of you," he added, glaring at the others.

"Look," Matt cut in evenly, "we're all just here to have a drink, okay?" He glanced at Foggy once, checking, before turning his attention to Steve. "There's no reason we can't just coexist."

"Well, Officer Murdock, that's mighty nice of you," Wilson drawled from his place beside Steve. "I know I'm certainly not here to put Nelson’s panties in a twist." He turned to Steve. "You?"

"I could do without the added strain," Steve said with a grin. "We'll keep to ourselves, Murdock, not to worry," he added, right before his gaze slipped to Bucky again.

Bucky felt the blow of Steve’s bright blue eyes and bit his lip, wondering. When Steve stared back, he was answering.

"Gentleman and the misses," Heike called, placing their drinks on the bar. "Your libations."

There was a shift in the energy of the room as the Avengers all crossed the floor, reaching for their drinks; Steve took a step forward, still watching Bucky.

"You good?" Bucky heard Matt mutter to Foggy, who replied with a gruff mutter and turned to his date for the evening, shaking off the encounter.

Bucky, noting that everyone’s attention was elsewhere, slipped quietly towards the back of the bar.

* * *

Steve

* * *

_ Fuck _ , he thought, watching Bucky disappear - the slim brunet was all legs and waist and creamy skin and fucking  _ sex  _ in that outfit-

"Give me a minute," he muttered to Sam, who nodded vacantly, still watching Nelson with amusement as he raised his glass to his lips.

Steve followed Bucky as the brunet headed to the back of the bar, slipping into the single-stall bathroom. He looked around before testing the door; it was unlocked.

He opened it and Bucky was waiting, leaning back against the sink.

"Of all the joints in all the towns in all the world," Bucky murmured, smiling.

He shut the door behind him, waiting for the click of the lock before taking a step forward.

"You didn't tell me you were friends with cops," he said, placing his hands on either side of Bucky’s hips and leaning against the lip of the sink. "And here I thought you were just the  _ normal  _ kind of dangerous."

"There's an abnormal kind?" Bucky asked, leaning back so that his chest brushed up against Steve’s.

He let his gaze travel down past the collar that Bucky had unbuttoned, catching sight of the skin that Steve had run his tongue against not that long ago. He grinned. "It was bad enough when you were just a genius doctor," he said carefully, fighting the itching need to take hold of Bucky’s waist. "It's so worse now that you're literally fucking the law."

"I'm not fucking the law," Bucky said, smiling coyly. "We're just friends."

"Oh, did I ask?" he murmured, curling a finger under Bucky’s chin and passing him a teasing glance. "Sorry, slip of the tongue."

He watched Bucky swallow at that.

"You really do like to make things difficult, don't you?" he asked, smirking as Bucky’s fingers made their way to the waistband of his jeans.

"Oh," Bucky said, pursing his lips. "Why, am I making things hard?"

Steve’s cock twitched.

"An innuendo," he commented wryly. "You must be drunk, Doc - you can do better."

"Don't patronize me," Bucky warned, giving Steve’s jeans a yank. He picked the brunet up, setting him on the sink and putting himself between Bucky’s legs. "If you're jealous, just say so."

"Fine," Steve murmured, reaching out and running his palms down Bucky’s thighs. "I'm jealous."

"Good," Bucky said briskly, suddenly businesslike as he straightened. "Seeing as you should have called." He leaned forward, pulling Steve by the collar. "It’d be your own fault if I’d have gone home with Matt tonight.” 

There was no disagreeing with that. 

"I didn't have your number," he pointed out, forcing a swallow.

Bucky stuck out his bottom lip, pouting. "You couldn't have found me?".

He eyed Bucky’s lips - remembered the taste of them,  _ fuck  _ \- and smiled.

"I could have," he agreed. "I should have." He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the side of Bucky’s neck. "Does this mean you're in need of my services?" he asked softly.

Bucky whimpered, pulling back to look at him. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Not beg," he countered, shaking his head. "Ask."

The brunet smiled. "Ask and you shall receive?" Bucky mused, leaning his head back as Steve kissed a narrow path up the side of Bucky’s neck. “What was it you said? That if I wanted an orgasm--”

"Sounds familiar," he agreed, taking hold of Bucky’s face with one hand and bringing Bucky’s mouth to his, tasting the night's beverages on Bucky’s breath and marveling at the brunet’s unfailing sweetness. "In fact - "

He let his hand go to the front of Bucky’s jeans, palming his inner thigh before groping him. Bucky gasped into his mouth and Steve smiled, reveling in the feel of him, velvet-smooth and perfect.

"What do you think?" Steve asked, watching Bucky’s lashes flutter against his cheek. "Are you busy now?"

Bucky let his head roll back and Steve kissed his way from the brunet’s mouth to his throat, pressing his lips against the vibration of Bucky’s voice as he hummed his satisfaction. Steve sucked hard against Bucky’s pulsepoint. 

"You're - not fucking me in this bathroom, Steve" Bucky managed hoarsely, shifting his hips to allow Steve better access. "I'm - "

"I know," he whispered, "Believe me, I don't want to fuck you in here either."

Bucky let out another whimper and Steve pulled his smaller frame closer, intent on marking Bucky with fucking Officer Murdock right outside the door. Earlier he hated how close Bucky had been to the man and a little voice inside him roared possessively, clawing uncontrollably at his chest. 

"Let me take you home," he offered quietly, and Bucky grabbed the back of his neck, pulling Steve’s lips desperately to his. They didn’t release from each other until their bodies were begging for air, and when they did, Steve couldn’t find the energy to pull away more than a few inches, feeling Bucky’s breath fan against him. 

"You mean," Bucky corrected him eventually, "that I should take  _ you  _ home."

Steve licked the taste of vodka from Bucky’s lips and shrugged. "I'm driving," he warned, and Bucky laughed.

"Meet me outside," Bucky whispered, pushing Steve’s hands away and leaping down from the sink - with a surprising grace, Steve thought, all things considered. Bucky turned to the mirror, smoothing his hair and giving Steve a devastating look of utter seduction before unlocking the door and slipping through it.

Steve waited a few seconds before exiting through the alley behind the bar, making his way to his bike out front. Bucky came out the front door, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, and without saying anything, he handed Bucky his helmet.

"Here," he said. "Put this on."

Bucky paused, looking startled. "What?"

"Put it on," he instructed, "and quickly," he advised emphatically, "or else your cop entourage is going to know exactly what kind of degenerate you let into your bed."

Bucky made a face, accepting it, but frowned. "You need a helmet, too," he insisted.

"Closer to God without one," he replied, shrugging. "You coming?"

He watched an amused smile flicker across Bucky’s face as he climbed onto his Harley, straddling him. "Not yet," he murmured in Steve’s ear. 

Steve shook his head. and he shook his head. "You're the worst," he told the brunet, and Bucky laughed, the sound of it drowned out behind him as he started the ignition.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh this weekend was so busy 😑 sorry for such a late update.

Steve

* * *

"What did you tell Officer Murdock?" Steve asked, barely managing to stumble in through Bucky’s front door, his fingers wrapped possessively around Bucky’s slim hips. He reached around, pulling the Glock from his waistband and setting it casually on the small table right near the entrance.

The location alone was an area that people like Steve didn’t step foot in. A place so uppity that people had fucking flowers and outdoor decor on their awnings and shiny new cars lined up properly along the curbs. It screamed of gentrification, but compared to what Steve was used to, this place was exactly where he would want Bucky to live. Because it was  _ safe _ . 

Bucky’s apartment complex itself was on the upper scale. It wasn’t something for the overly rich, but it did have a nice lobby and a working elevator that didn’t rattle or stop as it escalated. Steve didn’t look around much, but he was overly aware of his surroundings enough to take note of the nice wood floor and painted walls of Bucky’s apartment. It looked clean, crisp, innocent… just like the brunet in his arms. 

"This is what you want to talk about?" Bucky asked skeptically, his voice muffled as he shook his head against Steve’s lips. "Seriously?"

"Well, indulge me," Steve murmured, pinning Bucky’s delicate wrists above his head and pressing his slimmer body against the wall. "Give me my baser urges" - he bent his head, nipping lightly at Bucky’s neck - "and then I'll satisfy yours."

The brunet squirmed against him. "I told him," he said, gasping as Steve unbuttoned those tight jeans of his and pushed them down, running his hand along the smooth expanse of Bucky’s thigh, “that I wasn’t feeling well, and that I called a cab--” 

"That must’ve been a quick cab," Steve remarked offhandedly, and Bucky laughed. The sound was bells to Steve’s ears, but as soon as he shifted his hand to press against the bulge in front of Bucky’s briefs, the laugh was quick to get choked off, turning into a throaty moan. 

"He was busy with Foggy," Bucky whispered, shrugging. "I doubt he noticed."

Given the way he had seen Murdock looking at Bucky, he very  _ highly  _ doubted that the good ol’ deputy was so unaffected by the brunet’s sudden disappearance. He had every intention of telling Bucky that too, but then the realization of what--  _ who--  _ Bucky had mentioned settled in, making him tense. Bucky caught it. 

"You have a problem with Foggy," he mused, wrenching a hand free from Steve’s hair to pull his chin up. "Why?"

"I have a number of other things I'd prefer to talk about," Steve told him, pulling Bucky’s legs free from his jeans and picking him up to wrap his legs around Steve’s hips. "For example," he said in Bucky’s ear, "the way I'm going to take these underwear off you - "

"The precise scientific method, you mean?" Bucky teased, and for some reason, Steve felt himself harden at that.

"With my teeth," he clarified, and Bucky grinned, pulling Steve’s lips to how own again. "And then right after, I’m gonna eat your ass until you- "

"No," Bucky growled suddenly, shoving him away. "Nope, nope, nope."

"What?" he asked, panicked. "What did I - "

Bucky’s shoes had been left at the door, but he yanked off his socks and started to unbutton his shirt hastily before he dropped slowly to his knees, still looking up at him. 

_ Oh _ . 

_ Fuck _ , he thought, watching Bucky. Slim, but deft fingers fluttered above Steve’s zipper before seeming to think better of it, deftly undoing the button of his jeans and then tentatively leaning forward, taking the zipper between his teeth and tugging it down.

"Holy shit," he choked out, swallowing. Bucky yanked his jeans to the ground, waiting for him to kick them away before suddenly abandoning his torturous patience and taking Steve’s cock in his hand, eyeing it closely - determinedly - and in a way that made Steve’s mouth go dry.

"You know," Bucky said casually, rubbing his thumb across Steve’s tip, "you really do have an outstanding penis."

Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief-- here was the sweet, golden-boy Bucky on his knees with Steve’s cock in his hand, literally watering at the mouth. It was like fucking taboo. "Jesus Christ, how drunk are you?" he choked out, chuckling, before shutting his eyes as Bucky leaned forward and licked his way up Steve’s shaft, swirling his tongue across the head of Steve’s cock, tasting him in the most intimate of ways. 

"I'm just saying," Bucky said, leaning back to nod appreciatively, and Steve almost lost it right then when he watched the string of saliva that linked his dick to Bucky’s red lips. "As a doctor and anatomical expert," Bucky clarified mercilessly, "it's a fucking perfect dick." Bucky leaned in again, lifting it to lick slowly up the underside of his shaft before glancing up, smiling at him. "The size is, of course, ideal," he noted, gripping Steve firmly as though to emphasize this, "and the shape is just - it's gorgeous." Bucky nodded at Steve’s cock, approving it. "Tastes good, too," he added, taking it in his mouth and giving it a long, languid suck before releasing it with a pop.

"You're killing me, Doc," he moaned. His hand trailed down Bucky’s face, thumbing the corner of his mouth. "You're literally killing me - "

"As your doctor, I really feel I would be slacking if I didn’t give you the most thorough diagnosis," Bucky teased. "It's important to me that you understand how blessed you are in the dick arena."

"Dick arena--," he repeated, panting a little as Bucky took him in his mouth again - deep this time, so deep he almost wanted to just give up and fuck the brunet on the floor, “--is-is that a medical term?"

"Colloquialism," Bucky corrected, releasing Steve from his mouth to speak, leaving him to fully regret saying anything. Bucky pumped Steve’s cock in his fist a couple of times and then looked up again, still with the playful little smile on his lips. "It's good bedside manner, you know, to use terms the patient understands."

"If you want to play doctor," he growled, "baby, I can play - "

But Bucky had returned his attention to Steve’s dick - thankfully - and was blowing him with fervor now; with a goddamn breathtaking enthusiasm. Steve widened his stance, letting his head fall back, and  _ fuck _ , he was so close, but not like this - not without -

"Bedroom," he muttered, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders to raise him up from his knees. The brunet gripped Steve’s wrist, pulling him through an open door on the right. He looked a little flustered for a moment but it lasted only a second until Bucky tossed some scattered clothes off the bed, turning to look sheepishly at him. Steve couldn't have been bothered to think of anything other than how  _ badly  _ he needed to make another mistake - with Bucky - again.

He stood, staring at the smaller man, wondering how to start; just how, exactly, he wanted to -

"How do you want to come?" Bucky whispered, and Steve groaned.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, his cock throbbing. "You're not - you can't be - "

"What?" Bucky asked, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck. The fact that he had to tiptoe had Steve’s hands instantly reaching out to help balance him. "I can't be what?"

"You can't be real," he said, shaking his head, and Bucky laughed, taking a few steps back and pulling Steve on top of him. Steve pushed Bucky’s shirt away before shoving his own leather jacket and t-shirt away, too. From there, it was a blur of skin on skin that led to Steve eventually pushing into Bucky’s warmth, making them both moan loudly as Bucky’s back rose off the bed to meet Steve’s. 

It didn’t take long. The both of them were so worked up that it only took a few steady minutes of pounding into Bucky until he was trembling, spilling, and clawing at Steve’s back. The brunet was louder this time as he came and when the sound of Steve’s name fell from Bucky’s lips, the sheer heaven of the vision in front of Steve’s eyes had him coming, too.  _ Hard _ . He gasped, barely managing to take in a breath, and while his body felt spent, and Bucky was a shaking mess, he knew what he wanted. 

“Hold on, baby,” he panted, and pulled out quickly, before sitting on his knees and reaching for Bucky’s legs. With ease, he grabbed the back of Bucky’s legs and shoved him upwards, hoisting Bucky’s ass beautifully into the air only inches from Steve’s ducked down head. He eyed the gaping hole of Bucky’s bottom and couldn’t resist reaching out and dipping two fingers into that tantalizing heat. Bucky squeezed around him, moaning so beautifully, and without a second thought, Steve was leaning forward and sticking out his tongue. He tasted himself on Bucky; tasted the brunet, too, and decided he liked the way they mixed together. 

When Bucky came the second time untouched, Steve smiled. 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

Bucky woke up to a pounding headache, to nudity, and to a note on his bedside table beside a glass of water.

_ Drink this _ , it said, with two Advil tablets beside it.

He sighed before rolling onto his back. Of course Steve was gone, he thought, cursing the disappointment that settled in his stomach. Tattoos and motorcycles don't exactly scream 'see you in the morning' -

Bucky groaned and rubbed at his eyes, figuring it was best. He was probably a disaster, anyway. His hair was a mess, surely, and his breath must’ve smelled like something unimaginable. It was for the better that Steve didn't see him like this. 

He picked up his phone, looking through the text messages that had to have been sent since last night 

**From Matt** :  _ Hope you got home safe! Call me tomorrow? _

_ Hey _ , he typed back.  _ Sorry, got a bit out of hand last night. _

Bucky saw a response forming on the screen and remembered that Matt was probably getting ready for work.

 **From Matt:** _It’s all good, Bucky. Missed you though._

_ You gonna want coffee today?  _

Bucky paused, thinking.  _ Sure _ , he typed, just as he heard his front door swing open, the sound of rustling coming from the entry.

Bucky paused before hitting send, struggling to pull on a pair of black yoga pants and his old Harvard sweatshirt that had been tossed carelessly to the floor before grabbing the glass of water and creeping into the living room, forcing a sip.

"Oh," he croaked, catching the back of Steve’s blond head. "I thought you'd - "

"Left?" Steve asked, turning to grin at him. Bucky swallowed, hating him a bit for looking that good. Subconsciously. he raised a hand quickly, tousling his hair, and hoped that he wasn’t as much of a disaster as he felt.

"Unfortunately for you, Doc, I'm still here," Steve said, shrugging. "Got you coffee since you don't have any," he said, gesturing to Bucky’s unused machine. “Which is criminal, I should add."

"Looks like that's not all you got," Bucky commented wryly, forcing another swallow of water before taking a seat at one of his kitchen stools. "Bagels?"

"Bagels," Steve agreed, pulling a knife out of Bucky’s silverware drawer and stabbing it carelessly into a small vat of cream cheese. "I'd have made you eggs, but I don't have the time or will to stock your kitchen."

"Neither do I, obviously," Bucky said, smiling as he set a cup of coffee down in front of him. "Eggs, huh?" he asked, watching Steve prepare him breakfast. "I didn't take you as the breakfast making type."

"Well, you took me as the leave-before-breakfast type, so maybe you're not as smart as you think you are, Doc," Steve said airily, opening one of the cupboards. "Plates?" he asked, turning over his shoulder to look accusingly at Bucky.

"Dishwasher," Bucky answered, pointing, and Steve sighed.

"Clean?" Steve asked, and Bucky wrinkled his nose, tilting his head to the side as if in consideration.

"Yes? I think."

"Dear god, what kind of human are you," Steve grumbled, reaching over to rip a suitable portion of a paper towel and arranging two halves of a bagel on it, placing it in front of him. "There," he said, gesturing to it. "Enjoy that. Brooklyn classic."

"Classic, huh?" Bucky asked, picking it up to sniff it. "Plain?"

"For now," Steve said, shrugging. "I'll upgrade you to the garlic rosemary when you've gained a proper appreciation for Shield Bakery delicacies. And--," he added carelessly, leaning against the counter to sip his coffee as Bucky took a bite, "--when I'm not planning on fucking you all day."

Bucky choked on his overly large bite, coughing up cream cheese as Steve smirked, unfazed.

"Oh," was all that Bucky could manage, wiping stray moisture from his eye, and Steve took another sip of his coffee.

"Take your time," Steve assured him, the smirk turning devilish as the blond watched him try to compose himself. "I'm in no hurry."

"I, um," Bucky said, clearing his throat and stumbling as he aimed helplessly for words, "I just - "

"How is it?" Steve interrupted, gesturing to the bagel. "Good?"

"Yes, actually," Bucky answered, remembering. He took another bite, eyeing Steve, and Steve mimed a zipper across his lips, promising not to speak. It really  _ was  _ a delicious bagel, though it was hard now to focus on that.  _ Funny _ , he thought, that he would have ever been suitably pleased at the thought of breakfast without the promise of sex.

"It's good," he said, swallowing. "Really good."

"Well, don't get carried away," Steve warned, stepping forward to lean his elbows against the counter. "I mean, it's not my cock, but I'm sure it's satisfying in its own way."

Bucky felt himself flush. "Oh, god," he groaned, suddenly recalling what he’d said about Steve’s penis while he'd been unduly influenced by vodka. "I'm so sorry - "

Steve waved a hand. "Don't be," he said, raising his cup to his lips. "Easily the best speech I've ever gotten about my dick."

"I'm glad," Bucky murmured, hiding his face as he downed another gulp of water, "seeing as I don't think I've ever felt compelled to give a speech about a dick before."

"Frankly, Barnes, I loved it," he said emphatically. "Anytime you feel an ode coming on, feel free to let me know."

"Lovely," Bucky commented, rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately, I think sober Bucky is probably a little less willing to indulge in such things."

"Well, I think I'll manage to contain my disappointment, at least temporarily," Steve assured him, reaching forward to take a bite of Bucky’s own bagel. "How are you feeling?"

"Sort of unsteady," he admitted. "A little foggy."

Steve pointed to the cup resting beside Bucky’s hand. "Water," he said, "Recovery is important, Doc, you know this."

"Are you charging a copay for this appointment?" Bucky asked, picking up the glass. "Just want to know what I'm getting into," he clarified, sipping it.

"Very clever," he said, taking another sip of coffee. "But I would never dream of going against your position."

"Thanks," Bucky said drily, finishing the glass and taking another bite of his bagel. "Shield Bakery, you said?"

"Yep," he confirmed, nodding. "Local favorite."

"I've really haven't been anywhere in Brookly, to be truthful," he admitted, shaking his head. "I barely have anything other than take-out and hospital food. Baron might have mentioned that place before, now that I think about it, but - " He stopped, eyeing Steve, as he remembered the night before. "Wait. You know Baron?"

"Fucking everyone knows Zemo," Steve said with a shrug. “Practically lives in the Red Room. Not snooty enough to turn his nose up at people like me, and definitely not a kiss-ass to the cops, either. He’s like a perfect balance in between. Good company, too.” 

“And Foggy? What’s the deal with him?” 

"It’s ancient history, Barnes,” Steve said, stiffening. “I wouldn’t want to bore you with it.” 

"Says the man with Plato tattooed on his knuckles," Bucky reminded him, pointing. "Indulge me," he prompted. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't  _ do  _ anything to him," Steve said pointedly. "We're just . . . natural enemies, I guess you could say. But look at him," he added. "He needs a villain to think himself a hero. I just happen to conveniently fill the role." Steve grimaced. "He should consider it a favor, frankly."

"Villain," Bucky repeated. "Why?"

"There's a valid reason, and a highly invalid reason," Steve began, rolling his eyes. "I suffered an unwise indiscretion when it came to his cousin," he confessed. "In high school. Got messy, and he never really got over it."

"That's not at all the valid reason," Bucky remarked, and Steve shook his head.

"Believe me, it really wasn't," Steve agreed. "It happened once at a party and I don't think we ever even spoke again. Nelson tried to fight me over it, of course, naturally, and while I don't necessarily blame him, I don't really see why he's surprised that he walked away with a black eye and a broken nose."

Bucky eyed the scars on Steve’s fingers and wondered silently how Foggy might have thought such a thing would have been smart.

A quiet moment passed where Bucky chewed on another bite of bagel. Somehow, he knew Steve was telling the truth but he  _ also  _ knew that there was so much more that Steve was keeping from him. Not for the first time, Bucky was wondering just how much he would be able to forgive when it came to this man beside him, the unsolvable enigma that the blond was, but he also figured that he didn’t have to care. At least, not at this exact moment. 

“So…” Steve said eventually, "any plans for the day?"

Plans? If it didn’t involve work, plans were never part of his agenda. "Mm," he thought, remembering his phone. "One second."

_ Sorry, _ he sent to Matt,  _ I think I need to stay home and sleep today. _

**From Matt:** _ No worries. Get some rest. I'll stop by the hospital tomorrow. _

_ You're the best _ , he wrote back, setting the phone down on the counter.

"I'm free," he said aloud, sliding off the stool and finishing the last of his bagel before turning towards his bedroom. "Just let me take a shower, and then - "

Bucky stopped as Steve stepped towards him, resting his hands on Bucky’s hips. Bucky leaned back against him, feeling the thrill of his wide chest against his spine.

"Need help?" Steve asked, parting Bucky’s legs with his knee and slipping a hand from Bucky’s waist to slide it under the band of his yoga pants. "Some places are always difficult to reach," he murmured in Bucky’s ear, biting lightly on his earlobe as he fought a whimper. How this man could take him apart so  _ easily  _ was beyond Bucky’s ability to understand. 

"True," he exhaled, closing his eyes. "It can be so - " he reached behind himself, running a hand over Steve’s already stiffening length, "hard, don't you think?"

"You really are the worst," Steve muttered and Bucky turned with a laugh, kissing the blond speechless as they stumbled to his bathroom.

* * *

Steve

* * *

He fucked Bucky against the shower wall. Even with his hair wet and the red slap of hot water against Bucky’s pale skin-- he was exquisite, and while Steve himself had never been a man to marvel, he stole eager glances quietly, watching as Bucky let his head fall back, eyes shut, until Steve couldn’t remember having witnessed anything so fucking-- 

_ Pure _ . 

***

"So," he said, wrapping a towel around his hips and eyeing the marks he'd left on Bucky’s skin, the slightly purple bruising that was beginning to show around his fragile clavicle, "is there anything you needed to get done today?"

"Not really,” Bucky replied, tousling his hair with a towel. "I usually just lazy around on my days off, just trying to recover - "

"I suppose that explains the lack of clean dishes," he said, smirking at Bucky, and the brunet reached out, backhanding him lightly against the shoulder.

"Look, I'm busy," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don't usually entertain guests."

"Clearly," he agreed, stepping behind Bucky and watching as he ran a comb through his hair. "But," he said, pressing his lips against the top of Bucky’s head, "surely it's not out of the question."

"What, cleaning?" Bucky asked, whipping around to make a face at him. "No," he said, and Steve laughed.

"Well, at some point before the next time I come over, at least," Steve murmured, nudging Bucky’s chin up to kiss his neck. "Something to consider."

"The next time?" Bucky asked, lifting an eyebrow, though he leaned against his bathroom sink, pressing his hips against Steve’s. "Have we discussed this?"

Steve shrugged. "Fine, cut me loose, then," he said loudly, taking a step back. "I suppose that leaves you free to continue pursuing Officer Murdock," he added, "everyone’s dream man- "

"Oh, stop," Bucky said, pulling Steve back to him by the towel around his waist, which Steve conveniently allowed to slide down from his hips as he captured Bucky’s lips. "Don't tell me you hate him, too - "

"Hate?" Steve echoed. "Barnes, I don’t have the time for things like that. I just find it fascinating that your tastes could vary so drastically between his moral fortitude and my - " He paused, trailing off, and Bucky eyed him carefully.

"Yes?" Bucky prompted, nudging a finger into Steve’s chest. "What is it that you do, Steve Rogers?"

"I," he announced grandly, "am a mechanic.  _ Far  _ beneath you," he assured the brunet, pressing his palms down on Bucky’s hips, "or at least, I am when I'm lucky," he added, winking, and Bucky smacked him again, laughing.

Bucky tilted his head to the side. "You think I'd think less of you for what you do for a living?" he asked. "If anything, I would think it would be a relief."

"Why's that?" 

"Well, I don't personally know too many mechanics who get shot in the shoulder," Bucky said carefully, "and then proceed to risk their lives just to avoid having the bullet collected by the police."

Steve shrugged. "Call me a victim of circumstance, then."

"I wouldn't call you a victim of anything," Bucky mused, giving Steve one of his sharp, scrutinizing Dr. Barnes looks and reminding Steve just how dangerous this was, allowing himself to have feelings for a man that was far too smart to fully deceive. "What really happened to you?"

"Trust me," he told Bucky gruffly, "it's better that you not know."

"You know, oddly, I don't really find that comforting."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't exist to comfort you, then," Steve reminded him. "I told you, I'm bad for you." He tucked a damp lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear, trying to mean it. "Whatever this is, it can't be serious."

"I don't have time for serious," Bucky assured him, even though his blue-gray eyes said something else entirely. "I barely have time for dishes, remember?"

"True," he nodded, smirking. "As long as we're clear because if you think I'm the kind of person you can take home to your family for Christmas dinner - "

"Fuck Christmas dinner," Bucky cut in at a whisper, and Steve smiled.

"Exactly," he murmured, and locked their lips together, pressing close.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

"No," Steve said loudly. "I'm not eating that."

"Why not? It's good food and they deliver quickly - "

"There are two Thai restaurants in town, Barnes," Steve interrupted, plucking the take-out menu from Bucky’s fingers and disposing of it in the trash. "This is not the good one."

"What are you, the prince of Brooklyn?" he asked, though the moment he said it, he realized that Steve probably  _ did  _ imagine himself that way.  _ A prince among thieves _ , Matt had said, and it came as no surprise now.

"I'm a man of good taste, Doc," he said, letting his gaze flick hungrily over Bucky’s body. "You know this."

"God, are you still - " Bucky cut off, rolling his eyes as Steve smirked at him. "Seriously?"

"Why?" he asked, crossing his thick, tattooed arms. "Are you already worn out? Because I can make myself dinner, you know. My house contains food and other important vitamins and minerals - "

"No," Bucky said quickly, and as he confessed it, he realized he really, really wasn't. "Not quite done," he said, making a face as Steve’s smirk broadened triumphantly. "Oh, stop - "

"I didn't say anything," Steve told him cheekily, coming over to give Bucky a light slap on the ass. "Don't get carried away."

Steve bent to kiss him and Bucky sighed. "I am hungry, though," he said, and Steve nodded. "Can't we just go get something?"

He tried his hardest not to pay attention to the way Steve stiffened uneasily. "I," the blond began, only for Bucky to watch the words die in his throat. "I just don't think that's a good idea," he murmured, and Bucky desperately hoped his disappointment didn’t show on his face. 

Still, he sighed. "Because you're a mechanic," he said, looking up at Steve. "Right?"

"Right," Steve replied, wincing.

Bucky nodded, before resting his cheek against Steve’s meaty shoulder. "Any chance you're some kind of superhero?"

"It’s a very,  _ very  _ low chance."

"Bummer," Bucky murmured, before he pulled away completely and headed to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “And I don’t care what we eat. So you can choose. You order and I'll grab some wine."

Steve scoffed. "Oh, you have wine but not any real source of nutrients - "

“Worst doctor ever, I know," Bucky called back, and he heard Steve chuckle to himself. 

As he reached up to grab two glasses from his cabinet, he bit into his bottom lip, totally lost in his thoughts as he got things ready. In the other room, he could hear Steve flipping through the channels. 

He might have forgotten who or what Steve was if he hadn’t noticed the gun on the entry table as he was paying the delivery man. It had distracted him for a moment, though, and it wasn’t until Steve slid his hands under Bucky’s shirt before he’d even finished his take-out, that the distraction started to settle once again. 

"Hey," he protested softly, but finding it pointless so he eventually gave in, tossing the chopsticks against the black plastic container and letting Steve settle himself between his legs, kneeling in front of Bucky as Bucky leaned back against the couch.

"Sorry, Doc," Steve murmured against Bucky’s stomach, kissing his way down Bucky’s abdomen. "You'll have to get to bed early. Lives to save and all that fun stuff."

"I could have finished eating," Bucky argued faintly, only for Steve to shake his head.

"You could have," Steve smirked, "or - "

Steve jerked Bucky’s hips up, yanking the flimsy material of his yoga pants from his hips and peeling them from Bucky’s legs. With one large hand, Steve threw one of Bucky’s legs over his shoulder and turned his head to bite down on the curve of his thigh. 

"Or that," Bucky agreed breathlessly, closing his eyes. "D-Do that," he added, reaching down to pat the top of Steve’s head."

Steve’s head lowered and he took Bucky’s cock inside the heat of his mouth, making Bucky whimper at the contact. He ached to squirm as Steve took him apart but the blond’s grip was impossibly tight around his waist. 

Mind-numbing moments passed where Bucky struggled to grasp onto any sense of consciousness. His whole body trembled as Steve worked him up. It wasn’t until Bucky came that Steve perched back on his haunches and pulled Bucky on top of him, rearranging Bucky’s legs so that he was wrapped soundly around the blond. 

" _ Steve _ ," he begged, feeling the urgent want curling up again in his abdomen, the need to be full.

"So fucking good," Steve muttered in his ear, gasping as Bucky ground hard against his hips, and if Bucky’s mind had been caught momentarily by the gun at the door, it could only drift helplessly to the ink on Steve’s arms and chest and fingers, all of which held Bucky so gently yet surely, as if he was the most precious thing in the world. He closed his eyes then, as Steve’s hands melted across his skin. 

It was his best day off, by far.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve

* * *

"I think I'm growing on Ego," Sam said matter-of-factly, climbing back into the Escalade. "I could have sworn he looked happy to see me."

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. “The man literally didn’t say a word to either of us.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed easily, shrugging, “but compared to our last business endeavor, this shit’s going pretty well and you have to admit it.” He glanced over at Steve as they pulled out of the alley behind Ego’s so-called warehouse. “Specifically, I like that he hasn’t shot us yet.” 

“Yet being the operative word,” Steve commented dryly, causing Sam to chuckle. 

They were on the farther side of town, a side Steve and the others rarely ventured in, so as he drove toward home he let his gaze drift from side to side, taking in the streets. It wasn’t like Bucky’s ‘higher society’ part of town where all the people with dreams and degrees were, but it definitely wasn’t the shit side poor either, rather a balance in between similar to what Steve’s own streets looked like. Considering the shit load of guns that Ego had just acquired, Steve could only wonder how these streets would look like once the guns went into the wrong peoples hands. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“Remember when it was just casual fights here and there?” Sam asked, sighing as he too looked out the windows. “Just some security gigs and shit back when we were the scary ones with the guns?” 

The good old days. In a sense. When Fury was alive and calling the shots, and the thought of Alexander Pierce taking over was a far fetched idea that none of them ever thought possible. In fact, he remembered chuckling over that very idea just a year back when they’d all been at the Red Room, chugging pints to rejoice in Fury’s decision to take the weekend off. Little did they all know that just a week later they’d all be burying the same man. 

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I do. I also remember living in that shitty apartment with you,” he said with a flat laugh. “You can’t tell me you miss that.” 

Sam scoffed. “Fuck no,” he agreed. “I definitely don’t miss the fucking lack of clean clothes or the astro- _ fucking _ -nomical volume of cereal you go through in a week, or, hell, the amount of times I’ve heard you--” 

"-- _ Surprisingly _ ," Steve cut in loudly, "I don't need you to finish that sentence."

Sam grinned, tilting his head. "So," he continued, "in conclusion, while you may have a point, I still think this payout is going to be fucking massive."

He nodded his head in silent agreement, thinking that this so-called payout would certainly be the first of many. Which also meant smuggling out  _ more  _ weapons or who-knows-what other type of shit Pierce would push them to sell. They’d be richer, sure, but at what cost? He’d almost died once, and assuming the type of crowds that they’d still be around, Steve knew that trouble was bound to arise sooner or later. Pierce wasn’t going to want to go back to sitting around and waiting to be asked for favors when he could have anything he wanted, especially if those bags of cash in the trunk were anything to go by. It was easy money, but was dangerous money, the type that sometimes had no price value except for blood and violence. 

“Y’know what though… how do you think Pierce even found Ego?” Sam asked. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you just call up when you’ve got a fucking stash of extra AKs.” 

“I have no clue,” Steve admitted, trying and failing to not overthink it. “It’s not like Pierce informs us of all of his decisions. He only tells us what he thinks is important.” 

“Or,” Sam emphasised, “he only tells us what we need to hear. There’s no telling what shit he keeps from us. I suppose we’ll find out if the payments ever stop…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he shrugged. Steve didn’t blame him. Sometimes thinking too much made things harder than it needed to be. The less either of them thought, the easier it was to do the job and get it done with. Too many thoughts bouncing around in their skulls was almost as dangerous as the work they did. It just became too messy. Too much of a headache. 

“So…” Sam’s tone changed suddenly, snapping Steve out of his--  _ ha  _ \-- thoughts. “You gonna tell me what you’ve been up to, by the way?” he asked, glancing over at Steve and grinning his gap-toothed smile. 

"Oh, you know," Steve replied, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "Just living my life, selling guns, solving world hunger. Et cetera."

"God, you're the worst," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "I  _ meant _ ," he clarified emphatically, "the person you're fucking."

"Who says I'm fucking anyone?" Steve shot back, a bit tightly, glancing at his passenger. At Sam’s skeptically arched brow, he sighed in defeat. "Fine, so I'm fucking someone," he agreed, attempting nonchalance despite whatever surge of insanity rose up in his chest at the indirect mention of Bucky. "You want me to kiss and tell?"

"Is that really so hard to believe?" Sam remarked drily, smirking. "Just seems worth mentioning, considering - "

"Considering what?" he pressed. "And since when do you care what I do with my dick?" he demanded, making a face as Sam drew himself up in protest.

"I'm offended, is what I am," Sam huffed. "You know perfectly well, Steve, that the concerns of your dick mean shit to me. But you, on the other hand, are my brother from another mother and it matters how  _ you  _ are. One would think you might be a little more careful. You vanishing the fuck off at the Red Room wasn’t exactly unnoticed--” 

“I told you. I wasn’t interested being around Nelson and that fucking Officer Murdock--”

“--Then we can’t forget about the Prius incident--”

“Really not an incident, Sam--”

"I'm just saying that maybe you should consider being a little more careful,” Sam repeated vigorously, watching Steve carefully while he slowed the car down for a redlight. “For her sake." There was a lengthy pause where Steve could just  _ feel  _ Sam still looking at him. When the seconds ticked by and he apparently made no obvious sign of confirmation, Sam straightened up, his eyebrows raising. "Or his? Shit, man. Do you want to talk about it?"

“Hell no.” 

Sam grinned. “So it  _ is  _ a guy?” 

For a moment, he contemplated not saying anything. It wasn’t anyone’s business. Fuck, he didn’t even know if there  _ was  _ business to tell. Him and Bucky were just two adults sharing their bodies with one another. No one had to know and Steve definitely wasn’t in the mood to tell anyone either. But…  _ if  _ there was anyone to tell, it was Sam. There was no telling how many times Sam had been there for him in the past and deep down, Steve felt the tug of guilt, making him exhale heavily. 

Wordlessly, with his hands tight around the wheel, he nodded his head. Sam fucking beamed. 

The light turned green and Steve pressed down on the gas.

***

They returned to the Tower where they were greeted by Clint giving them a quiet applause. “Back in one piece,” Clint said with a grin as if he was impressed. As if they were supposed to be brought back in nothing but body bags. 

Steve didn’t bother to reply other than turn to give the man a sharp look. Sam chuckled as they passed, managing to stick up both middle fingers to which Clint returned. When Nat entered the room, they were filled in about yet another visit from Fisk. 

“At this rate, he should just move in,” Clint muttered to Thor, who handed each of them a beer as they got comfortable at a table. “It’s like he comes over just to kiss Pierce’s ass.” 

Steve shook his head. “You’re gonna get yourself killed talking like that.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true, though,” Sam commented lowly before taking a drink of his beer. At Steve’s pointed glance, Sam shrugged. “What? You really think that Fisk is around giving us  _ personal  _ protection since we’ve got Hydra so close? C’mon, man, there’s something bigger at play here.” 

Steve didn’t want to think about it. No matter how loud the voice nagging at him told him otherwise. He took a large swallow of his beer, averting his eyes to the other two across the table. “Murdock wasn’t back, was he?” he asked, the taste of the beer souring even further as he mentioned the deputy’s name.

Nat glanced sharply at him. “You have a problem with him, now, too?” she asked, looking displeased. “Is this part of your unending feud with Nelson?” 

“Nah,” Sam shook his head. “Murdock is just--” 

“Irritating,” he answered, though truthfully, the roar of displeasure at the memory of the other man’s hand on Bucky’s waist was a touch more than just irritation. 

Nat hummed, glancing between them, her green eyes glittering with humor. “He appears more than capable to me. Certainly seems smart enough.” 

“Yeah, and since when has that ever been something useful for us?” Steve countered roughly. He refused to acknowledge the flair of jealousy. “I mean, really, Nat. A smart cop? Who the hell wants to deal with that?” 

Nat shrugged. “Pierce knows what he’s doing,” she said, as if it was so simple. Even Clint’s skeptical glance in her direction didn’t faze her. 

“Okay, but does Fisk?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “He called Murdock pliable. Does that fucking sound right to you? Clearly not. Murdock is clearly not on board with Pierce and Fisk and the more he’s around here, the more he’s getting. We don’t trust anyone, or have you forgotten that? This pact--” 

Nat’s gaze sharpened in return and Steve felt her offense from where he sat. “You certainly trust  _ Prius  _ if you’re willing to have them stay at your house. Tell me, did you have your gun pointed at their pretty head the whole time or were you… occupied?” 

His body went cold at the indirect mention of Bucky, his jaw and fists tightening. So she knew, too? Had they all been talking about it? He shot a glance at Sam in the corner of his eye and Sam only looked back as if to say  _ ‘I told you so’ _ . When he looked back at Nat, he swore he saw red at the smug look on her face. 

“Didn’t think so,” she muttered in victory before taking a drink. 

Just then, before Steve could say another word, the boardroom doors behind them opened and Pierce himself stepped through. Without saying anything, he signaled to Steve and Sam to join him. They did as they were told and when the door was closed behind them Pierce gestured for them to sit with a flare of his arm. “Gentlemen,” Pierce looked toward them, “I expect to hear good news about Ego.” 

Steve nodded. “Everything went to plan,” he said. “He’s a reasonable guy, surprisingly. Wasn’t a long trip.” 

“And the money?” 

“In the safe,” Sam explained. “Ready to be distributed.” 

“Good, good,” Pierce nodded. “A celebration is in order, then, considering Steven here didn’t have to take a bullet for us. I am glad the both of you have returned in one piece.” The telling look on Pierce’s face should have been enough to warn Steve, but it wasn’t until the next words were being said that Steve felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “Business aside, it feels like ages since I’ve last checked in with the pair of you. Tell me how the both of you have been,” Pierce said to the both of them, however his eyes remained on Steve alone. “Do you feel as if you’ve been giving the Avengers your full attention as of late? I understand, of course,” Pierce remarked, making an elaborate show of conceding toward Steve, “that you required some time to heal but I’ve heard you’ve been somewhat distant.” 

Steve swallowed heavily but his throat remained dry. “Distant?” he repeated, suppressing his nerves. “How so?” 

“Believe me when I say that I don’t particularly enjoy the threads of gossip and lately, they’ve all somehow revolved around you, Steven.”

He took a deep breath, shifting uncomfortably in the leather chair. “I was only--” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Pierce said, cutting him off and offering his sharp smile. “I only hope that your intent is still to prioritize the good of the Avengers over whatever… indiscretions you may entertain from time to time.” 

“Of course,” he answered. He didn’t understand where this sudden concern regarding him was coming from but it definitely didn’t sit right with him. With Sam, it had been okay. With Nat, it made him mad. But this… Pierce never took something lightly. Never. 

"Well, excellent," Pierce said, suddenly brightening. "As long as we're on the same page."

"Right," Steve repeated, quieter, feeling a shudder of uncertainty. "Same page."

Pierce nodded indulgently at him, smiling. “Good. Now onto other matters.” 

“Other matters?” Sam asked with raised brows. 

“Yes,” Pierce confirmed. “To new business ventures.” 

Steve frowned. They were expected to do  _ more  _ of this shit? “New business vent--” 

"Though, before we do," Pierce cut in smoothly, lowering his voice. "How is Coulson?"

He felt Sam’s eyes on him, silently pushing for him to answer. “Phil’s fine,” he answered. “Still bedridden but the doctors say he’s stable.” 

"Excellent," Pierce responded knowingly, tapping the pad of his finger on the table. "You know how I like to keep tabs on these things," he murmured, tilting his head. "Don't you?"

"I do," he agreed quietly, and closed a hand around the arm of his chair, suddenly feeling like he’d been solidly put in his places; as though he’d been reminded who in the room possessed the advantage of information.

"Good," Pierce said again, with the same abrupt brightness. "And now, onwards."

* * *

Bucky

* * *

“I don’t like this place,” Stan said loudly, nudging at Bucky as he glanced over the man’s charts. “I love all species but this place has got a serious infestation of Krees. We need to contact Captain Marvel as soon as possible.” 

“Kree,” Bucky repeated, shaking his head. That was new. “So tell me, Mr. Lee, on a scale of 1 to 10 what level of danger does that indicate?” 

"It's not Thanos but it’s definitely not ideal.” 

Bucky hummed. “Well, that’s okay, I suppose,” he said, replacing Mr. Lee’s chart at the foot of his bed. “Now, how are you feeling today?” 

"Besides the Kree infestation? Oh, fine," he replied, shrugging. “Certainly seen better days but I’m doing just swell at the moment.” 

Bucky gave the older man a kind smile just as Wanda ducked her head inside the room. “Dr. Barnes? A moment?” 

Mr. Lee tried to persuade them both to stay and talk with him, but Bucky told him that he’d see him tomorrow, patting his shoulder before joining Wanda outside. The door clicked shut behind him just as Mr. Lee started babbling again. 

“What’s up?” he asked Wanda. 

Wanda exhaled heavily. “I’ve got this old guy who refuses to stop smoking despite his, you know, very casual case of severe lung cancer,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve caught him trying to sneak them in about four times now, which is very helpful, you know, for his heart problems, too.” 

“Man certainly seems a bit hard headed,” Bucky commented, chuckling a little.

“That would be an understatement,” Wanda murmured. “At least Coulson seems to have his head on properly compared to good ‘ol Stan Lee.” 

A tsking noise caught them both off guard and they both turned to watch Baron stroll up to them. “What’s this? Both of you decided not to work today?” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Wanda said, rolling her eyes. “If I wanted to abandon my post I would have done it a hell of a lot sooner than now.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be scrubbing in today?” Bucky asked him. “Appendectomy?” 

“Yep,” Baron said, preening. 

“Good, then that means you can get moving and Bucky and I can have our private conversation.” Wanda nodded her head down the hall but Baron only smirked. 

“Jealous?” Baron’s grin stretched, but he continued on the way he had been heading before stopping at them, the direction of the OR. He’d barely made a few steps past them when he looked toward them over his shoulder, “Looks shit on you, by the way Maximoff.”

“Please,” Wanda snorted. “You’re basically just scooping it out and stitching the person back up. A monkey could do it.” 

"Good luck," Bucky called after him. "Don't be a monkey."

"Thanks," Baron yelled over his shoulder, lifting a clipboard in acknowledgment. "Will try to remember that."

"God, I wish I could stab him just to scrub in on his surgery," Wanda said, sighing after him, and Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about Matt--” 

This time, it was Bucky that rolled his eyes. “I told you, nothing is going on with us. We’re just friends--” 

“I know, I know,” Wanda said, waving a hand in the air. “Which is why I need you to talk him into going out with my brother.” 

"I didn’t even know you had a brother.” 

"A twin, actually," Wanda shrugged. "He’s just like me, except worse. Don't tell Matt that," she added quickly, pointing accusingly at Bucky as though he'd already done it. "Tell him he's handsome and athletic and really intelligent. Which he is," she insisted. "He's a property attorney and he's working with a consultant from Hell’s Kitchen, so he'll be staying with me for a week."

"So, what, you're passing your brother off to Matt because you don't want to babysit him?" Bucky asked, arching a brow. "I'm sure he'll love that."

Wanda shrugged. “Not so much as babysit him, more like get him laid. Pietro can be uptight when he hasn’t had any and his last serious relationship was a good few years ago. So…it wouldn’t bother you? You don’t mind asking Matt?” 

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll ask. No promises, but I think he’ll probably be up for it.” 

"Probably only because you would be the one suggesting it,” Wanda said, giving him that  _ look _ . “Everyone knows he bends over backwards for you. If he can’t have you, might as well please you in any way he can.” 

He rolled his eyes again, not bothering to acknowledge her as he smiled wryly. Instead, he glanced down at his watch. 

He supposed it was best, really, that Matt would have some entertainment. He hadn't tried anything with Bucky since the Red Room and they were truly just friends, after all, even though alcohol could sometimes blur the line. But still, Matt could go for a distraction. It did, at least, lessen the guilt Bucky felt whenever Matt mentioned the Avengers or Matt’s suspicions about Steve. 

Who, Bucky thrillingly recalled, he might actually have time for this evening.

"What are you smiling about?" Wanda demanded, staring at him. "You look like you're having a stroke."

Bucky shook his head. "Nothing," he said innocently, and then, recalling he managed to wear his silk underwear today, he smiled again. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Steve

* * *

Steve walked out of the boardroom and checked his phone. He hadn’t received anything yet, but still. It had been a few days and he was getting antsy. He had to guess that Bucky was, too.

"Hey," Sam said, nudging him. "Look."

Steve glanced up, catching a familiar blonde talking to Thor from just inside the Tower’s doors. "Oh," he said, watching the buff Avenger shift uneasily, something Thor rarely did. "Carol."

"Looks tense," Sam murmured. "Should we - "

Steve glanced over his shoulder as the boardroom door fell shut. "Yeah," he agreed, gesturing. "Come on."

"Thor, please," she was pleading quietly as they approached, "this isn't about money, I swear. It's not about - " She cut off, looking around sharply. "I've made it very clear," Carol hissed, "that I  _ don't  _ do that anymore - "

"Something wrong, Danvers?" Sam asked, throwing an arm easily around her shoulders. Steve himself had never been friends with her, and he definitely wouldn’t side with her over Thor. 

"All good?" he murmured toward Thor, and Thor nodded stiffly.

"Yeah," the long haired blond muttered. "She was just leaving."

"No I wasn't," Carol snapped, sighing with frustration. "I told you, I need help. From any of you," she added, pointedly looking up to glance between Steve and Sam. "I know you guys do this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Sam asked, frowning. "You need a bike fixed?" he joked, though the severity of Carol’s expression said otherwise.

"No, I - " she hesitated. "It's - it's my aunt. She's been getting threats - serious ones, too - "

"You mentioned that, didn't you?" Steve asked, glancing up at Sam. "Didn't you say Murdock came by asking questions?"

"Yeah, he did," Thor answered quietly. "I'd heard. I just don't know what you want us to do about it."

Carol let out a slow exhale, looking disappointed. "Nothing, I guess," she murmured. "It's just that I'm worried, you know - and she's really the only family I've got, and I let her down for so many years - " She glanced at her feet, pressing her lips together tightly. Thor stepped forward and Sam nudged her towards him, allowing the other man to wrap her in a loose embrace.

"Listen, we can keep an eye out," Steve assured her, patting Thor’s shoulder. "We can look into it for you, if you want, I just can't - "  _ What _ ? What was he supposed to tell her? It wasn’t like what the Avengers were doing now was stuff they could just involve outsiders in. Carol wasn’t one of them-- not anymore-- and he couldn’t exactly just go out of his way to be at her beck and call. He knew without a doubt that if Pierce was to see her, he’d absolutely lose it. They needed to get her out before that happened. 

“-- we just can’t have you hanging around here right now,” he finished, glancing at Thor and Sam before looking at Carol. Just then he felt his phone buzz in his hand and he glanced down at his screen as Thor exchanged words with Carol. 

**B:** _ I’ll be home in half an hour _

Steve smiled. 

**Steve:** _ Hungry? _

**B:** _ No time.  _

**B:** _ Dead tired.  _

**B:** _ Sex and sleep only.  _

**B:** _ Don’t even bother talking to me _

He nearly barked out laughing right then and there. He could only imagine Bucky’s face right then, knowing without a doubt that the brunet was probably smirking at the phone as he waited for Steve’s own reply. 

**Steve:** _ Fuck, you’re perfect. I’ll meet you there. _

When he glanced back up, Thor and Sam were still talking to Carol. "All good?" Sam asked. 

"Gotta head out," he said, glancing apologetically at Carol. "Sorry."

She sighed. "I haven't forgotten," she said grimly. "You Avengers with all your secrets. I don't miss 'em," she sighed, shaking her head at Thor. "Life's a lot easier when you can just, you know - "

"Sell condos for a living?" Thor said stiffly. "Yeah, figures."

"Thor," she murmured warningly, and then shook her head, turning to Steve. "Thanks for offering to look into it," she told him. "I know if you think it's worth looking into, Pierce will agree."

Steve nodded. "No promises, obviously," he cautioned, and she nodded.

"I know," she said. "But still." She turned towards the door before pausing. "Are you guys coming to Sharon’s?"

"For what?" Sam asked. "Is she having something?"

"Yeah, Elektra’s in town," Carol answered. "I think it's her birthday."

Sam shook his head. “Talk about a fucking ghost. You heading there?” he asked Carol. 

"Yeah, I promised Sharon I'd stop by," Carol said. "I assumed Steve would be going," she added, glancing meaningfully at him.

"Nope," Steve replied curtly, thinking of Bucky in the shower and feeling his mouth water. "I have other business to attend to."

"The same business as last week?" Sam asked skeptically.

"Business as usual," Steve returned, smirking, and Carol shrugged.

Carol shrugged. "Well, if you change your mind. It’s supposed to be wild."

They always were. Sharon wasn’t exactly known for throwing dull gatherings. Most of the times the cops were called and even then most of the people were either passed out on the lawn or buzzed out of their mind on couches or mattresses somewhere that the cops didn’t bother dealing with them. He was more than happy to pass, but he knew Sam would be up for it. 

“Fuck it, I’m in,” Sam agreed. “Need a ride?” 

Carol jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I've got my car in the lot," she answered. "But I'll see you there." She looked up, tilting her head. "Thor?"

"No," he said stiffly, and she nodded.

"Another time then," she said softly, and then turned, nodding once at Steve before disappearing through the door. 

"Well, do me a favor and don't tell me what the fuck that was about," Sam declared, nodding at Thor. "You out?" he asked Steve. "I have to grab something from Barton before I go," he remembered, "but you go ahead."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, nodding to him. "Have fun at Sharon’s. Say hi to Elektra for me," he added, and Sam turned around, nodding his agreement as he jogged backwards towards Clint.

When Steve stepped out of the Tower, he got on his bike and pointed himself in Bucky’s direction. It wasn't particularly late - in his estimation, anyway - but still, the roads were fairly open. He'd be there soon, which was ideal. It had already been longer than he would have liked. If he’d had his choice, he would be fucking Bucky on a daily basis. He’d be sinking into that beautiful body whenever and however often he could. At least whenever Bucky’s schedule allowed him. 

He stopped at a red light and leaned onto his handlebars, inhaling the cool air as it whipped around his shoulders. It was a fairly warm night, all things considered, and a quiet one. He glanced around, taking in the comfortingly familiar view of the street where the Tower resided, before his gaze snagged on a dark vehicle two lanes over that came to a quiet stop behind him.

Steve frowned, not recognizing the plates and not able to see the driver. It was probably nothing, he thought, trying to shake the paranoia as the light turned green, but he took a left turn instead of a right, just testing it out.

Within a matter of blocks, the car had turned behind him. Steve swallowed uneasily, taking another unexpected right turn.

The car followed.

_ Fuck _ , he thought, abruptly changing directions.

There was no fucking way he was going to Bucky’s house now. He took the few streets to Sharon’s house and parked his bike outside, catching Sam as he pulled into the driveway.

"Hey," Sam said, frowning. "I thought you were - "

"Changed my mind," Steve said quickly, glancing over his shoulder. There was a line of cars down the block, none of which looked like the one that had been following him.

"You okay?" Sam asked, looking curiously at him, and Steve nodded.

"Yeah, fine," he muttered, pulling out his phone. He took a deep breath as he typed away at his screen. 

**Steve:** _ I’ll be late. I’m sorry _

He could only hope that he hadn’t already put Bucky in danger. 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

When his phone chimed, he looked away from the tv and frowned, grabbing his chopped salad from the fridge and sighing as he fell against the couch. The lettuce was wilted and he wasn't particularly excited about it, but hey, at least it was food. He took a bite, trying not to sulk, as his phone went off again. 

**Steve:** _ Lock your door, okay? _

Bucky blinked, choking on a garbanzo bean. Uh-

**Bucky:** _ What?  _

**Steve:** _ Just do it _

**Steve:** _ I’ll try to be there soon. _

Bucky swallowed the food in his mouth but it did nothing to tamper the sudden ice that settled in his gut. When he took a breath, it was shaky. 

**Bucky:** _ Okay _

Before the message was fully sent, he stood from the couch and quickly peeked through his curtains before making his way to his front door and turning the deadbolt. He went back to the widows. Nothing seemed out of the unusual, he realized. It was as unoccupied as ever. 

Still, he barely tore his eyes away as he typed out another message for Steve. 

**Bucky:** _ Is everything okay? _

He watched his phone, waiting, but as the minutes ticked by, no response came. When he got back to the couch, he pushed his salad away, frowning at it. 

Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve

* * *

"What's your deal?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowing as Steve glanced a second time over his shoulder, looking for signs of the vehicle that had been following him. "You're being weirder than usual."

Steve shifted uneasily, tucking his phone back in his pocket. "I thought," he began, pausing briefly to wonder if he were going insane, "I thought I saw someone - "

"Steve!" Sharon cried shrilly from her balcony overhead, sending some of her drink spilling over the edge in her enthusiasm. "Oh, fuck," she muttered, licking the side of her red cup. "Oops - "

"I thought you weren't coming?" Carol called down, appearing beside Sharon and jostling her drink a second time, prompting her to growl in frustration and knock it back, making a face as she swallowed.

"I'm not," Steve said under his breath, shaking his head - hard to believe this had ever been appealing at one point, feeling a vague sense of superiority - and Sam nudged him.

"You were saying?" Sam prompted, gesturing. "You thought you saw . . . ?"

Steve frowned. "I thought that while I was driving here - "

"Steve!" Sharon called a second time, gratuitously propping her bared cleavage against the ledge of the balcony. "Fucking come inside - "

"What the fuck are you even doing?" he called up to her, squinting past her through the sliding glass door. "It sounds like fucking chaos up there."

"It's a party, stupid!" she shouted back gleefully.

"That it is," confirmed a resigned voice behind them, prompting Sam and Steve to turn around. "And how truly unfortunate that it is for me."

"Elektra!" Sharon shouted in drunken joy. "You're here!"

"I am," Elektra called back, her heels tapping against the sidewalk as she came to stand beside Sam and Steve, shaking her head. "I was promised small and intimate- "

"Oh, things  _ will  _ get intimate," Sharon assured her smugly, turning as someone nudged a shot glass into her hand. "Hold on, I'm coming down right now," she yelled, throwing the shot back and biting down on a lime before disappearing from sight.

"Was it the dead dad that did it, do you think?" Elektra murmured disapprovingly, teasing, and Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Or, perhaps," she mused delicately, giving Steve a sharp jab to the rib, "could it have been the stupid ass ex-boyfriend?"

"Hmm?" Steve echoed vacantly, shoving her hand away. "I didn’t know Sam and Sharon used to date.” 

"Mm," Elektra agreed, smiling as she shook her head. "Good one."

"Yes, fucking hilarious," Sam muttered, backhanding Steve in the chest before giving Elektra that charming smile of his. "So Natchios, been missing us?"

"Not at all," Elektra grinned back. "I don't miss  _ any  _ of you. Or this place."

“Well, as you can see, things are pretty much the exact same--,” Steve said and Elektra gave him a look that said otherwise, her eyes shooting to Sharon’s previous spot upstairs before darting back to him. He ignored that. “--but I heard you started your own business,” he continued, nodding at her. “Impressive, Natchios.” 

She shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, I got a spot at a nice salon and I’ve gotten some regulars, so it’s going fine,” Elektra replied, waving her hand dismissively. “Certainly better than being a waitress in this hell hole.” 

"And to think you could have done neither and just stayed here," Sam interrupted, waving his hand at the ambiance of booze and rowdy twenty-somethings upstairs, "Living off your inheritance - "

"I don’t want a penny of that money and you know it,” Elektra hissed. “It’s blood money and I left here to get away from that shit. Not live off of it. I was in a hurry to be on my own for a reason.” 

"You mean more in a hurry to get away from here," Sam corrected. "A little less ashamed of your roots, maybe?"

"I'm not ashamed," she protested, wrapping her fingers around the spot where Steve knew she'd once had a tattoo indicating her allegiance to the Avengers; the ‘A’ and a sick looking sai intertwined.

"You still have it?" he asked, glancing down, and Elektra glared defiantly at him before forcefully removing her arm from the sleeve of her jacket, brandishing the tattoo at him.

"I just want something fucking different for my own life. Something," she added vigorously, drawing herself up and yanking her sleeve back over her shoulder, "other than ending up with a bullet to the - "

"Elektra!" Sharon squealed, suddenly bursting from the stairwell and waltzing unsteadily towards them. "Nothing can stop us now," she proclaimed, taking a swig from a handle of Patrón and swallowing before throwing herself into Elektra’s arms. "I'm so happy - "

"Oof, yes," Elektra agreed stiffly, though she smiled as she leaned into her friend’s hug. "I see that - "

"And I see that nobody is happy to see me," Sam sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes playfully, "but it’s whatever.” 

Steve hummed and glanced over his shoulder once again, the phone in his pocket practically searing into him, reminding him where he could be instead. "Well, this is nice," he said, taking a firm step back, "but I'm late, so - "

"Oh no, no, no," Shaon said instantly, her eyes glassy as she stumbled towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and giggling as he caught her, holding her upright. "No," she added again, laughing fragrant tequila vapors into his face and then clumsily attaching her mouth to his.

It was wrong. 

Every little part of it was. 

Her feel, her lips, her smell,  _ her _ . 

Sharon would always be a part of him, there was no denying that, but they weren’t like  _ that  _ anymore. They hadn’t been like that for a long while, even though they had hookups scattered throughout the months every so often. But it was never special. It was a fuck, and nothing more. And now, having her pressed up against him, her lips against his, he knew that there was no way he could ever go back to her knowing he had something-- someone-- that made him feel so--

Steve forcefully took a hold of her shoulders and set her upright, pushing her away from him. "Sharon, stop - "

She pouted at him and just as she was about to lean forward again, a police car was pulling onto the street, making her eyes go wide. "Oh, fuck,” she whined, sticking her lips out even further as she hid the handle of tequila behind her back and leaned against Steve’s chest. "There's like," she leaned in, whispering loudly, "a shit ton of cocaine upstairs - "

Elektra groaned. "Sharon - "

"Fucking Christ," he cursed under his breath, shoving her into Sam’s arms. "I'll take care of this," he muttered, heading for the vehicle as the driver stepped out.  _ Shit _ , he sighed in exasperation, pausing mid-progress as he caught sight of the pristine head of dark hair that disembarked from the driver's side.

"Hey," Murdock called out neutrally, gesturing to the house with his chin. "Got a call about a noise complaint."

"Yeah, figures," Steve grumbled, turning to nod over his shoulder at Sam. "Shut it down," he barked and Sam tossed him a haughtily knowing smirk, nodding, before turning Sharon to lead her inside. "Sorry," he added insincerely, turning back to Murdock. "Didn't realize your promotion meant Fisk’s got you doing noise complaints now," he added pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Murdock shrugged. "Slow night," he explained, glancing warily at where Sharon wobbled before taking her first step up the stairs. "She okay?" he asked, gesturing, and Steve turned to see Elektra remove her jacket, settling it over Sharon’s shoulders before letting the woman take her upstairs.

"She's fine," he said tightly, shifting to block Murdock’s view. "A little carried away, but, you know." He shrugged. 

"Indeed," Murdock said skeptically, glancing over Steve’s shoulder. "Are you sure - "

"Sorry, Officer," Elektra interrupted, appearing breathlessly on Steve’s right. "My friend just wanted to throw a party, but I suppose it got a little out of hand."

Steve watched with amusement-- and shock-- as Murdock’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening just slightly as he looked at her. "Hi," Murdock managed, and then coughed, suddenly straightening. "I mean, yeah," he said smoothly, "I understand, I just wanted to make sure that -"

The sight alone was almost enough to make his night better. He knew Bucky wasn’t putting out for the badged man, so maybe Murdock finally got the hint and moved right the fuck on. It certainly hadn’t made him feel good when he watched Murdock paw over Bucky like a goddamn puppy but it made him feel like the most powerful fucking man on the goddamn planet when it was him that took Bucky home over anyone else. He was more than eager to hope that Murdock would set his attentions elsewhere and leave Bucky the fuck alone. He didn’t give a flying fuck if they were just ‘friends’. 

"We'll keep it down," Elektra assured him quickly, nudging Steve. "Won't we?"

"You can," he muttered to her. "I have places to be."

"Fine, I can, then," she said, rolling her eyes. "Party's in good hands, Officer," she added, aiming her unfailingly pretty smile at him and offering her hand. "I'm Elektra, by the way," she said. "I'm surprised, actually, that I don't know you," she murmured, gazing intently at Murdock’s face.

Murdock’s line of sight snagged momentarily on the tattoo on her arm before returning to meet Elektra’s eye. "Matt," he supplied without thought, and then shook his head quickly, stammering in retreat. "I mean - Murdock," he clarified, clearing his throat. "Officer Murdock."

"I think you mean Deputy Police Chief Murdock, actually," Steve reminded him smartly, grinning as Murdock nodded his agreement, his eyes still fixed on Elektra’s face. She smiled amusedly at Murdock, but let it pass. 

Steve glanced amusedly between them. It was like he didn’t even exist. "So anyway," he said loudly, and Murdock looked up, nodding.

"Right. Well," he said stiffly, glancing up as the door to Sharon’s balcony slid shut, the sounds of music and laughter gradually dying down and becoming relatively contained within the house, "I guess I should let you get back to the party. Just, uh - keep it down," he suggested, and Elektra nodded.

"Thanks," she said - a little listlessly, as though she were disappointed - before turning to give Steve’s arm a squeeze. "And I'll see you - "

"When I see you," he agreed, before nodding his head at her in a silent parting. "Have fun."

"I will," she assured him with a teasing smile, giving Murdock a last regretful flutter of her fingers before turning to go inside. Steve watched Murdock’s face carefully as the officer’s eyes seemed to linger a second time on the ‘A’ on Elektra’s arm, his eyes narrowing. 

"Her father," he said quietly, and Murdock blinked, his attention brought back to their conversation.

"What?" 

"It was her dad," he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "He was an Avenger. You know," he added, smirking. "A mechanic, like me."

"I see," Murdock said slowly, and frowned. "He was, you said?"

"He was killed. When we were in high school."

"Killed," Murdock repeated, arching a brow. "By a rogue wrench, I assume?" he ventured wryly. "Or a drive socket, maybe. Or some other relevant occupational hazard?"

"Something like that," Steve agreed, smugly pleased to see they understood each other. 

At that, Murdock seemed to barely contain a scoff. "Right," he ruled flatly. "And her friend, then?"

Steve’s smirk tightened. "She’s special," he muttered, and Murdock chuckled.

"You know, I'd have figured you for… a different type, Rogers," Murdock commented offhandedly, gesturing abstractly to where they had drunkenly stumbled back inside. "I'd have guessed you'd pursue something more, I don't know - "

"Multi-faceted?" he supplied, Bucky’s face flashing in his mind as Murdock offered him an indifferent shrug. "Yeah, oddly enough, you're not wrong," he muttered, suddenly regaining the apprehension he'd had for Bucky’s safety that had prompted him to stop there in the first place. "Anyway," he said briskly, feeling for his phone in his pocket, "if there's nothing else - "

"You look troubled, Rogers," Murdock interrupted, eyeing him carefully. "Something happen up at the shop?"

"Why?" he retorted, a little too sharply. "Expecting trouble? We Avengers got it all handled."

Murdock gave him a flat look and Steve knew he wasn’t in the mood to hear whatever bullshit the officer was gonna tell him. Instead, he pulled out his phone as they continued walking towards the curb. 

**B:** _ Is everything okay?  _

Seeing the message made him wince, feeling wildly inconsiderate. Murdock was still droning on, but Steve looked over the man’s shoulder, taking a slow, sweeping glance up and down the street. 

“Hey,” he said, interrupting Murdock, “you didn’t happen to see a sedan loitering around on your way here, did you? Black or dark grey, maybe. Out of state plates.” 

Murdock frowned in thought, pausing beside his open car door. "No," he returned with a shake of his head. "Why? Is that one of the many things you've got handled, Rogers?"

Steve grimaced. "Yes," he gritted out, and Murdock chuckled knowingly, falling into his seat and turning the key in the ignition.

"Be careful out there," Murdock called out the car door, slamming it shut and pausing to glance in his rearview mirror before pulling back into the road.

"Always am," he called back, waving, before muttering "fucker" under his breath and glancing back down at his phone.

His fingers quickly typed out a response. 

**S:** _ I’m sorry. Got caught up in some stupid shit. Be there in 10. _

He sighed as he watched the message get sent, knowing he hadn’t been considerate in the least in reassuring Bucky. He itched to call Bucky, to hear his voice, but he wanted to see the brunet even more. So without another thought, Steve shoved his phone back into his pocket before throwing a leg over his bike and heading straight for him. 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

He wanted to say he hadn't been waiting up to hear from Steve - and he'd certainly never openly admit that he had - but when he heard the sound of Steve’s bike pulling up behind his building, Bucky found he hadn't quite resigned himself to the lie. Not with how he jumped up from his couch and bolted straight for the door.

When he flung it open, his mouth dropped open in surprise when he found Steve right there, his massive frame easily taking up the entirety of the door frame. "You're here," he sighed in relief, pulling Steve inside quickly. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Steve hesitated before speaking, but Bucky could smell tequila and cigarette smoke on him as Steve wrapped his thick arms around him. He tried to lean away, frowning, but Steve pulled him even closer, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmured to him. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He bit into his lip, not sure of himself or what to make of Steve. He’d had boyfriends in the past, sure, but none of them had ever come to him smelling like-- and none of them ever carried knives and fucking guns. None of them ever made his heart race in the possibility of danger. This was all new to him and in a life driven by facts and rules, Steve’s life was something he would have to learn. 

"I just," he began, grimacing as Steve eyed him, "I know you're supposed to have secrecy with-- well, everything… but telling me to lock my door and then not answering - "

"I know," Steve said softly, pressing their forehead together, Steve having to lean down. "I know. I should have - " he hesitated. "I shouldn't have - " The blond seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said again, wilting a little in resignation. "I just wanted to make sure nothing happened."

Bucky frowned, wondering what sort of something Steve would have to worry about. He figured it was better not to ask, even though he really, really, really felt like he should. But that would be crossing their line right? He wasn’t supposed to care just like Steve wasn’t. This was just about sex and Steve was bad for him and Steve told him  _ you don’t want to know _ . 

“You’re okay, though,” Bucky said, closing his eyes in resignation and disentangling himself from Steve’s hold before his breath caught in his throat as Steve’s hands slipped down his arms to interlock their fingers together. “It’s-- it’s late,” he told Steve, watching the dim lighting cast itself around Steve’s larger form, the hazy glow glinting from his golden hair before melting into the black leather on his shoulders. “And I-- I should go to bed, I think--” 

Steve’s gaze dropped in disappointment but he nodded, slowly exhaling. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, lightly squeezing the tips of Bucky’s fingers before taking a forceful step back.  _ I'll go, _ his feet clearly said, but his face - his eyes - pleaded otherwise.

"It's late," Bucky said again, somehow even less convincingly this time. "I should really sleep."

"You should," Steve agreed, not moving. "That would be the smart thing to do. Though," he qualified, his lips quirking up in a breathtakingly smirk, "I suppose you're the smart one here, Doc."

Bucky watched the shape of Steve’s lips as he held his breath; watched the line of his thick forearm as he toyed anxiously with his own fingers; watched Steve guardedly prevent himself from reaching for Bucky, waiting --

_ Fuck it _ , Bucky sighed.

"I'm an idiot," he informed Steve regrettably, taking one step, and then another. "I'm the dumbest guy in school," he muttered, only pausing as his chest met Steve’s body. Their height difference wasn’t something that he thought much of until then, when he had to look up at Steve, his forehead barely meeting Steve’s clavicles. 

"What a fucking shame," Steve murmured, his eyes flashing as Bucky’s hands pressed against his hips. "Guess I had you read all wrong," he added, running his hand up Bucky’s arm to take hold of the back of Bucky’s neck, nudging his chin to the side. "I thought you were some sort of genius," he whispered against Bucky’s throat, pressing his lips to Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky swallowed, letting Steve lead him backwards to position him against the wall. "I know some things," Bucky clarified, his heart pounding as Steve pulled Bucky’s thin t-shirt over his head, lowering his lips to press against one of Bucky’s nipples. "Like, for example," he began unsteadily, fighting a moan as Steve’s fingers slipped to the inside of Bucky’s thighs, "did you know that the attraction to chests is a result of evolution? I mean, for males to females especially, but with us--"

"Us?" Steve mused, pressing his knee between Bucky’s legs and sliding his loose pajama pants down, letting them drop against the floor. “What makes us different, hm? 

“Well,” Bucky said, licking his lips as he fumbled with the button of Steve’s jeans-- and making a point to look away as Steve removed his gun from his waistband, placing it on the table-- and nudged them down Steve’s meaty thighs. “I’m gay and you-- well, you’re here with me, so obviously--” 

“What?” Steve smiled against him as his hand slid around Bucky’s waist, dipping down between his cheeks. “We aren’t as evolved as heterosexuals?” he teased, pressing against Bucky’s tight hole with promise, and Bucky’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation. 

"N-no, I was gonna say we’re just the same--” he broke off as Steve started to lightly grind their fronts together, “-- and that it’s human need to want--  _ fuck _ \-- to want to have sex face to face, rather than--” 

Bucky gasped as Steve spun him, pressing his chest against the wall and putting pressure on Bucky’s hips, moving his hair to speak right into Bucky’s ear. "Rather than this," Steve suggested, nudging Bucky’s knees farther apart and lining them up from behind, his dick a steady presence against Bucky’s ass, "which is animalistic?"

Bucky swallowed a whimper, feeling Steve’s cock press eagerly against the thin fabric of his boxers. "Carnal," he agreed, gasping again as Steve started to pull Bucky’s briefs down his legs, helping him kick them to the side before positioning himself against Bucky’s ass. "It's - it's more - "

He heard the quiet tear of something ripping before he hissed through his teeth as he felt the cool slickness get pressed against his hole. Steve dipped his finger into him slowly while his other hand slicked himself up. The heaviness of Steve’s dick against him was something that Bucky doubted he’d ever get used to. 

Soon enough, Bucky’s head was falling back against Steve’s chest as the blond breached him, taking his time settling all the way in and pinning Bucky’s wrists against the wall. “More, um,” he whispered, “what was I--” 

"Savage," Steve supplied, giving Bucky a firm thrust before moving Bucky’s slimmer hips, grinding them closer. "More--", Steve hissed through his teeth as Bucky arched his back, tightening his hold, "--barbaric, maybe?"

"Something like that," Bucky agreed, letting a moan slip between his lips. "It's - it's primitive," he panted, crying out as Steve reached around and grasped Bucky’s cock in his hand, making Bucky scramble to remember words. "Animals - are designed to--,” he sucked in a breath, losing his train of thought and then regaining it as he remembered just who he was--  _ an intellectual medical professional _ \-- and what he was currently doing--  _ being fucked mercilessly from behind _ . God, who even was he right now? “--to do it this way, but--” 

Steve picked up his pace, his hand moving faster against Bucky’s cock. It took no time at all until Bucky felt the pressure build inside of him, twisting and sprinting, before he clutched at Steve’s hand and felt himself spill, reaching mindless satisfaction. 

Minutes ticked by where Steve held him up, slowly rocking into him in a pace that didn’t make the pleasure blur into something painful. When Steve released Bucky’s cock, his arm snaked its way up until it wrapped around Bucky’s throat, tilting his head towards Steve’s face. Steve’s blue eyes were sharp and bright and the vision had Bucky’s pounding heart beating faster. 

But then Steve was pulling out and Bucky’s mouth opened to whine at the loss only for Steve to plunge his tongue inside, shushing him. It was filthy, but so hot, and although he could spend the rest of his life in that position, it only lasted for a few seconds until Steve was pulling away. 

Bucky pouted, sticking his bottom lip out, and Steve chuckled breathlessly as he pecked against it. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered into Bucky’s ear as he nuzzled close, “so I can watch your face while I fuck you.” He paused, sucking lightly behind Bucky’s jaw, “Like a  _ civilized  _ person.” 

Grinning, he turned to kiss Steve and the blond picked him up, wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips as the man carried him into his bedroom. Steve was quick to deposit Bucky against the bed, just as fast as he eagerly divested himself of his jeans and boxer briefs. Steve’s big hand wrapped around his own dick somehow made him seem even larger, his cock seemingly aching to be held. Bucky’s mouth watered just looking at it, knowing it had just been inside him, stretching him. 

Steve gave him a wolfish grin as he knelt onto the bed. His jacket had already been chunked but when Steve reached down to pull his own t-shirt over his head, Bucky shuddered at the sight of his muscles bulging, feeling his face heat. “What else,” Steve asked greedily, as he parted Bucky’s legs and positioned himself between them. “What else can you teach me?”

Bucky closed his eyes, letting Steve bend to kiss his stomach. "There’s been studies," he began, reaching down to take a fistful of his blond hair, "that said there are seven types of male orgasms - "

"Seven," Steve muttered, spreading Bucky’s legs wider and picking his hips just a bit before nudging his tip against Bucky’s hole. "Really?"

Bucky moaned as Steve pressed inside again. "It's -- there’s many that disagree," he choked out, letting Steve yank his hips up to fill him completely to the brim, "but - "

"What do you think, Doc?" Steve asked, driving him to madness as he circled the head of Bucky’s cock with his thumb. "How many?"

"I think," he said, biting his lip as Steve bent to take his nipple in his mouth, his beard scratching slightly at the soft skin there. “I think there's normal sex, and then--”, he sighed as Steve made his way up, sucking lightly on Bucky’s collarbone before kissing his neck, "--there's sex with you.” Steve yanked Bucky’s hands over his head, holding them still as Bucky arched his hips up and Steve drove into him.

They both abandoned the conversation as Bucky came closer to a second orgasm, Steve’s tight abs starting to gleam with effort. Bucky stared at him, running his hands against the crevices of Steve’s chest and stomach in sheer wonderment as Steve stared back, locking eyes with Bucky as he came without warning for the second time. The effect was instant on Steve. The blond’s hips stuttered before slamming into Bucky and stilling, a hoarse roar echoing into Bucky’s skin as Steve’s fingers pressed hard into him. It was a sight seeing Steve blissed out-- it always was-- but it was something else entirely watching as Steve’s jaw went slack, and Bucky could read his own name silently escape from between Steve’s lips as the man came down from his high. 

Spent, Steve collapsed gently against him, kissing his cheek, his nose, his lips. The kiss slowed to gentle pulses, a reassuring lull of something that Bucky might have assumed was affection if Bucky hadn’t known any better; if he hadn’t heard Steve’s voice saying ‘ _ trust me, you don’t want to know’ _ ringing in the back of his mind. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured eventually in Bucky’s ear, and Bucky shifted to look at him.

"For?" he asked, running his fingers along the strong line of Steve’s jaw that was visible even with the beard.

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s palm. "Everything," he said.

Bucky hesitated as he looked at the blond. It was so easy--  _ too  _ easy-- to think of this as more. To think of Steve as his lover, his boyfriend, who would visit him and stay with him whenever the time allowed. To picture pieces of leather clothing stuck hiding in his closet, or Steve’s gun and knives resting by the door. To have this and think of the future, of the things they can become, of just being  _ together _ . 

Without looking away, Bucky shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just sex, right?”

Steve spread his fingers over Bucky’s hips, making a point of possessing him before hungrily pressing his lips to Bucky’s again, kissing Bucky with a desperation that he felt all the way deep into his bones, and judging by the look on Steve’s face, the blond felt it too. It was something that felt way too strong and intense, something like--  _ no _ . 

"Yeah," Steve said when they'd broken apart, a hazy breath's distance between them. "Yeah. It’s just sex."

It wasn't until Bucky woke up in Steve’s strong, tattooed arms that he realized the thing he had felt-- the thing that had passed between them, skipping from his pulse to Steve’s -- was something he’d never experienced with anyone else, something that terrified him. 

Because it wasn’t something that said ‘ _ let go _ ’. It was something like a chant that kept saying ‘ _ stay, stay, stay _ .’

He watched his reflection in his bathroom mirror, felt his heart thud when Steve materialized behind him to press a kiss to his neck, Steve’s hair disheveled from sleep and his voice throaty and rough as he whispered  _ good morning, Doc _ , smoothing his large hands over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky watched him leave and thought again that it must be something very much like  _ please don't go _ , and very much like  _ stay stay stay _ , and something like -

Something like -

_ Don't say it _ , he thought to himself, closing his eyes and forcing it out of his mind.

Staring at his reflection, he shook his head at himself, gritting his teeth. 

_ You don't want to know. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Character Death

Bucky

* * *

“Young James, I absolutely adore you to pieces but I have to admit, green isn’t the best color for you. It’s much too hulk-ish,” Mr. Lee commented with a friendly smile as Bucky studied the man’s chart. “I think a nice red or blue would do you well. Though, not  _ too  _ much red because of Hydra, of course.” 

He smiled kindly at the man, humor etched in every itch of his face. There was never a dull moment with the man. And apparently not an ounce of sanity either. Nonetheless, Bucky tapped his fingers against the clipboard, nodding. “I’ll take that into consideration the next time I go shopping for clothes. Unfortunately, I don’t have any say in the scrubs here at work. I’m stuck with green, it seems.” 

Mr. Lee hummed. “Well, that’s okay. Dr. Banner would be proud. Sometimes he’s not a big fan of the Hulk, but I know he’d be happy about this.” 

He was ready to open his mouth and ask just who the heck was Dr. Banner, but he was stopped as Wanda opened the door, peeking her head inside.

“Dr. Barnes, can I steal you for a moment?” she called out, glancing over. “Good afternoon, Stan,” she added, smiling, and the older man toasted her with his half-eaten cup of strawberry jello.

He stepped toward the door, replacing Mr. Lee’s chart at the foot of his bed. “What’s up?” 

"Can you check on one of my patients for me?" Wanda asked, giving him a quiet, desperate look. "The smoker, you know, with the heart problems - "

"Right," Bucky said, recalling him and nodding. "Anything you want me to look for?"

"No, just checking in," she replied. "Pietro is apparently having some sort of crisis," she muttered unhappily by way of explanation, "and I just need to run out and take care of something - and I wouldn't ask," she sighed, which Bucky knew was almost certainly true, considering how much more she loved her job than anything else in her life, “but--” 

Bucky shook his head, cutting her off with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem. I”m about done here, anyway, so I’ll head down the hall now.” 

Wanda sighed in obvious relief. "Thank you," she said, clasping her hands in gratitude. "Shouldn't be anything too important - "

"You're good," he assured her. Wanda waved them both off and Bucky followed shortly after, bidding Mr. Lee farewell and ignoring yet another comment about his green scrubs before he slipped out the door and headed straight down the hallway. 

When he entered the room, he was surprised to find that Wanda’s patient was the only occupant. It was a small-ish hospital, of course, and not exactly hindered by overcrowding, but it was still rare to come across a room that was not shared by at least two patients. The man in the bed was older in age, either in his late fifties or early sixties, but he looked considerably worse. The black ink that covered his skin seemed to have faded considerably and the blond hair on top of his head was streaked heavily with white. 

But then a familiar symbol on the man’s wrinkled forearm caught Bucky’s attention and then he found himself taking a steading breath. He shut the door gently behind him and wandered to the man’s chart, doing his best not to stare. 

“Scared?” the man asked gruffly, as Bucky made a point to avert his eyes. Coulson, Phillip J, he read on the clipboard, and oh how he wished group affiliations was listed on the paperwork too. 

“No,” he answered confidently, lifting his head up to meet the man head on. “I was just checking over your paperwork.” 

“Where’s Dr. Maximoff?” Coulson asked gruffly, shifting in the bed. “Who’re you?” 

“I’m Dr. Barnes,” he explained, kicking himself for abandoning his bedside manners in the midst of his surprise. “Dr. Maximoff asked if I could check on you since she had a family emergency.” 

“She did, hm?” Coulson grunted, shaking his head. “Well, good for her, then. Some people’s family can’t seem to make the trip anymore than they have to,” he added, muttering to himself. “Don’t have blood relatives, but there’s things thicker than blood.” 

He nodded in respect, carefully avoiding the statement. “Well,” he said, treading delicately, “Mr. Coulson, have you been having any pr--”

“I don’t suppose you can let me convince you to let me have a smoke, can you?” Coulson interrupted, punctuating the statement with an unsubtle, nasty cough. “She’s always on about me not wasting my life,” he grumbled, “but I say I’ve done beautifully to have lasted this long.”

“Well, Dr. Maximoff isn’t wrong,” he informed Coulson, shaking his head. “Besides, it’s hospital rules. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’m sure your chosen family wouldn’t wish for you to chance another surgery like the one you just had, don’t you think?” 

Coulson scoffed. “Some of them don’t give two fucks whether I live or die. And I know,” he added through gritted teeth, “as the feeling’s entirely mutual.” 

Bucky grimaced, unsure how to proceed. "Well, in any case," he said, returning to the subject at hand, "have you been having any - "

He stopped as the door opened on his left, a man clad in a nice shirt, suit jacket, dark trousers and a pair of shiny loafers on his feet striding confidently through it. The man was older but compared to Coulson, he was gleaming with health, his strawberry blond hair swept to the side in perfected waves that were slightly peppered with grey. The man had wrinkles but it certainly didn’t take away from how handsome he was, in a gentleman way. Unlike Coulson’s misery, this man practically screamed of confidence, so close to being arrogance, and he sat himself comfortably into the chair beside the hospital bed. 

“Phillip,” the man said surely, his blue eyes sliding pointedly to Bucky as Coulson nodded in acknowledgement, sitting upright. “New doctor?” he added nonchalantly.

“Temporarily,” Coulson muttered back, shifting to face the man. There was an obvious sense of respect there from Coulson, Bucky noted, and something that felt like a sign of submission to the man.

The man in the suit hummed and there was no missing how his eyes went up and down Bucky’s body, something hungry flashing in them. “Such a shame, then.” When Bucky met the man’s gaze, he quickly looked away as the sight there sent something cold rushing down his spine. 

“Anyone come with you?” Coulson pushed further. 

The man shook his head. “No. I’ve got Sam and Steve to check on our new friend.” 

At the sound of Steve’s name, Bucky choked on his own breath, coughing into his own hand and hoping they didn’t catch it. 

He wasn’t so lucky. 

The man smiled at him, leaning back in his chair. It was unnerving watching someone undress him in their mind and have no shame about it. “My goodness,” the man’s eyes twinkled, “Do we need to treat you, too, Doctor?” 

“Sorry,” he said hastily, “just, um-- something in my throat--” 

"What's your name?" the man asked curiously. "Coulson, here," he added, reaching out to give Coulson’s shoulder a comfortingly possessive squeeze, "is a very close friend of mine, so I'm sure you understand that I want to be certain he has the best possible care."

"I'm Dr. Barnes," Bucky said, nodding to him. "Are you, um - " he hesitated, glancing between them. "Family?"

The man's teeth cut across his lip as he smiled. "In a sense," he agreed. "I'm Alexander," he explained, coming to his feet to offer Bucky his hand. "Alexander Pierce. But please, call me Alex."

_ Pierce _ , he thought, and frowned, hearing Matt’s voice.  _ I just think Pierce can do a lot more damage with Rogers than without him… _

"Something wrong?" Piece asked, grinning knowingly.

"No, no - I'm so sorry," Bucky stammered haltingly, reaching forward to lightly grip Pierce’s hand, giving it as professional a shake as he could given the realization. "It's just been a long shift - but I promise, Mr. Coulson is in very good hands with Dr. Maximoff," he explained reassuringly, glancing down at the chart and skimming it, "and she's been charting his recovery very closely--"

"Has she?" Pierce asked, his smile becoming vaguely strained. "Well, wonderful, then," he said, recovering quickly. "I'm sure we'll see Coulson back on his feet again soon, if that's the case."

"Fucking good," Coulson growled. "These hospital nazis are hellish. Fucking unbearable-- " he paused, making a face as he glanced up at Bucky. "No offense," he muttered insincerely.

"None taken," he assured him, replacing his chart. "No new pain, then, Mr. Coulson? No problems Dr. Maximoff should know about?"

"Had some chest pain last night," Coulson said, shrugging. "Nurses took care of it."

"I'll be sure to let her know," Bucky said evenly. "And in the meantime, I'll let you two visit, and if there's nothing else - "

"You're sure you don't want to stay?" Pierce asked, resuming his seat and leaning back against the chair. "Take a load off, Doctor," he invited, his teeth flashing unsettlingly as he waited, smiling at Bucky.

"Unfortunately, I have a few of my own patients to attend to," Bucky lied, "but thank you for the offer, Mr. Pierce- "

"So formal," Pierce commented, feigning disappointment. "To you, it’s Alex, remember? We're all family here," he added, gesturing around the room. 

“Right. Well, thank you, Alex,” he said quickly and pointed himself at the door, “and Mr. Coulson, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything--”

"Yeah, yeah," Coulson muttered, waving a hand at him as Pierce glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes never leaving Bucky’s as he slipped out of the door.

* * *

Steve

* * *

"Oh good, more guns," Sam said, shaking his head. "I was just thinking to myself that what my life was missing was the constant stress of imminent death - "

"Look, see a therapist for that shit," the woman with dyed red ends who was apparently named Gamora informed him brusquely. "I just do the books."

"What does Ego want us to do with this?" Steve asked, staring at the case full of ammunition.

She shrugged indifferently. "Out of my payroll," she said, flicking her wrist in disinterest before leaning back, glaring at them. "Seriously," she added, lifting one brow, "stop fucking asking questions."

"Don't you two have a boss for that?" the other man contributed obnoxiously, loudly permitting a box of something heavy to fall on the desk between them and then leaning over, making a point to place himself between the two of them and Gamora. "Seems like he should keep you a little more informed."

"Stay out of it, Peter," Gamora muttered, shoving the box aside. "And quit invading all over my area, okay?" she added pointedly, making a face. "I told you, we're done - "

"Come on, Gamora," Peter groaned, nudging her. "It was one time, babe - "

"Oddly, one time is a sufficient frequency for a great number of things," Gamora retorted, crossing one slender leg over the other in a huff. "Vaccinations, condoms, infidelity - "

"Well, this sounds lovely," Sam said, grinning at her. "Do tell."

"Nothing  _ to  _ tell," Gamora said instantly, gesturing to Peter. "Look at him," she added, making a face. "I should have known."

"Okay, hold on," Peter interrupted, his brow furrowing in apparent discontent. "The thing is," he opened grandly, glancing appealingly between Steve and Sam, "when Ego brought Gamora to us, I selflessly took her in - "

"Forged my papers, he means," she clarified, and Sam’s smirk twitched into a smile of amusement.

" - when she was an immigrant with nothing - "

"I'm from Cape Town," Gamora said flatly. "I also went to Oxford."

" - and I basically taught her English," Peter continued. "Though, in fairness, she taught me lots of things, too." He paused at that, grinning smugly. "If you know what I mean."

"We do," Steve said curtly, his expression souring as Sam’s face contorted in equal displeasure.

"And then," Gamora supplied matter-of-factly. “I caught him fucking my roommate,” she paused, holding up a hand as Peter tried to interject and cutting him off with an admirably effective glare of disgust, “so now, here we are," she concluded, gesturing around the room and sitting back in her chair.

There was a beat of awkward silence, and then -

"Good to know," Sam remarked drily. "Sounds like a healthy work environment," he added, grinning at her.

Gamora narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head. "You're kind of fucked up, aren't you?" she asked, scrutinizing him with an oddly intrigued curiosity. "I'm sensing you don't really know when to shut up."

"Oh, I don't," Sam agreed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on her desk. "But I'll tell you one thing," he assured her quietly, his gaze flicking over her as Steve fought not to roll his eyes, "I assure you, I can speak whatever language you want."

"I bet you can," she murmured in agreement, a slow smile creeping over her lips as Peter cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to him.

"Anyway," Peter announced, his gaze darting between them, "if you two are done here - "

"We are," Steve assured him, grabbing Sam’s collar and pulling him away from where he and Gamora had leaned towards each other across the desk. "You two can sort this out after business hours."

"Or not," Peter suggested sulkily, but Gamora cleared her throat delicately, coming to her feet.

"Like I said earlier, Ego’s instructions were to set these aside for you," she said, all business again, moving the box Peter had placed on her desk and kicking the case of AKs towards them. "Where you take them after that is your boss's prerogative."

"Washing your hands of us already, huh?" Sam asked, shaking his head in false disappointment. "How tragic."

" _ You _ ," she said simply, falling back into her chair and propping her stilettoed boot up on the desk, "can pick me up tomorrow night. Eight o'clock." She daintily crossed one ankle over the other, watching his response. "Wine and dine me," she instructed briskly, "and don't skimp. I may work for a criminal, but I'm still a lady."

"I don't doubt it," Sam assured her, his grin broadening, and while Steve was in the midst of shaking his head at the utter unlikelihood of Sam’s appeal he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, prompting him to shift the case of ammunition under his arm and dig it out. He picked it up, glancing at the screen in time to see Elektra’s name before bringing it to his ear, frowning.

"Hello?" he asked, and was met with instant hysteria.

"Steve," she gasped, clearly hyperventilating, "you have to - you have to come here - "

"Elektra," he said, the concern in his voice prompting Sam to glance up worriedly from his wooing of Gamora, "Elektra, where are you?"

"Sharon," Elektra sobbed, "Steve - she's - you have to come here - "

"What's wrong?" he demanded, suddenly feeling his heart race. "Elektra, talk to me - what happened?"

A low, wretched sob escaped her, the anguish evident even through the phone.

"Steve," she said, choking on his name, "Sharon’s been shot."

The box fell out from under his arm, crashing to the ground as Peter and Gamora both leapt up, staring at him in disbelief.

"I'll be right there," he said, forcing a swallow. "Get her to the hospital, Sam and I will be right there with you, Elektra- "

"Steve," Sam said urgently, stepping over to him. "What's going on?"

"Steve, I can't," Elektra sobbed over the phone, her voice muffled as she spoke into it. "I can't - "

"Why not?" he asked, dread bubbling up in his lungs. "Elektra, it'll be okay, just call - "

"Steve," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "She's dead."

The phone slipped from his hands.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

"Headed home?" Baron asked, pulling on his shoes and stuffing his hospital pair back in his locker as Bucky nodded in confirmation. "Long day," he added, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't wait to get home."

"You and Heike doing anything tonight?" he asked, reaching in for his coat.

"She’s at the bar tonight, unfortunately," Baron said, grimacing. "I'll have to drink if I want to see her, and let's be honest,” he shrugged, rolling a knot out of his shoulders, "that's not happening after the shift we just had."

"Fair enough," Bucky agreed, checking his phone. Nothing from Steve, he noticed, and frowned; that was unusual. Steve had gotten into the habit of texting him when he’d gotten off work, and vice versa.

Of course, Steve was busy today, Bucky thought morosely, remembering Pierce’s visit to the hospital.

"What's wrong?" Baron asked, catching the faltering of Bucky’s smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he exhaled, shaking his head. "Just - got distracted. Thinking about a patient," he explained, and Baron nodded slowly, not fully convinced but clearly also not equipped with the energy to argue.

"Any thoughts in particular?" he asked, and Bucky hesitated, biting his lip.

"Baron," he ventured slowly, "can I ask you something that might be personal?"

Baron shrugged, allowing it. "Go for it," he said, and Bucky took a breath.

"Can you tell me about the Avengers?" he asked, and Barron nodded slowly as the question registered, considering his answer.

"The Avengers are a local bike gang," Baron explained tentatively, "though that doesn't really cover it. They have a lot of investments in the city. They own property and businesses and shit." He paused, shrugging. "Stuff like that," he added, though he looked as though the 'stuff' in question was less 'property taxes' than 'general deviance.'

"And?" Bucky asked, prompting Baron as he hesitated. "What else is there?"

Baron squirmed, battling his better judgment. "Look," he sighed eventually, "I try to be fair. Foggy has been one of my closest friends, and I pretty much stayed out of the way when it came to his issues with the other guys like Rogers and Wilson- but," he said, leaning into the word, "they definitely do have a fair amount of criminal activity going on, especially since Fury died. That was the old president," he explained, and Bucky nodded. "He wasn't much of a pre-emptive strike kind of person, and he was real embedded here. Helped out a ton of people; probably more good than bad," he added optimistically, "though I can't say for certain."

Bucky could tell something wasn't being said, so he waited, watching Baron struggle for a minute.

"Foggy’s dad is a county prosecutor," Baron said, and Bucky nodded, leaning against his locker. "And, uh - he had an Avenger on trial once about twelve years ago. Selvig, I think," he added, and shook his head, "not that that matters."

Somehow, Bucky knew to prepare for the worst. “And?”

"Foggy found his dad all fucked up one night," Baron said, "beaten and bloody. He wouldn't say who did it, but we sort of all knew," he supplied warily, his grimace tightening. "We pretty much knew it had to have been the ones in school with us that were pressuring him to drop the charges against Selvig. Like Rogers, Wilson, Odinson, Barton. There’s a girl, too, name’s Romanoff."

Bucky swallowed heavily, thinking of the scars of Steve’s knuckles and feeling his stomach squeeze, wondering just how much of it was true. "What did he do after that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Foggy’s dad? He stayed on the case," Baron said simply. "That's the kind of man he is. He refused to drop the charges - even though I assume he was threatened, because he also refused to file a police report for his own beating. In the end, the state's witness fucked off," Baron said regretfully, "and so the case was eventually dropped, but Foggy always had a feeling it had been them, and then there was a whole - " he shook his head, cutting himself off and shrugging. "Point is, Foggy’s got a lot of reasons to take issues with them, especially Rogers. That's the blond one," he clarified, and a piece of Bucky wanted to laugh at the thought that he would need clarification. "The one who came into the Red Room last time we were out with Wanda."

"Got it," he said quietly. “But… why Rogers? Why does Foggy hate him the most?”

Baron frowned, sighing heavily. “The day after his dad got busted up, Rogers had showed up at school with his knuckles all bruised up. Foggy wanted someone to blame and it was a no brainer to latch onto Rogers. I’m not saying Rogers is guilty, but the picture seemed so clear, y’know? I do my best to stay neutral with it all.”

Bucky knew he was staring, but there was little else he could do. "Wow,” he breathed out once he found his voice. 

"Pretty much," Baron said, nodding his agreement. "The Avengers have been around here forever and like I said, they do a lot of good for folks around here, but you don't want to cross them." He grimaced. "Especially not now."

"With the new guy in charge?" Bucky asked. "Is that why?"

Baron shrugged, looking a little queasy. "Again, I don't know much about it," he said, with more caution than Baron typically used in conversation. "But Pierce was always sort of a problem, or so the rumors seemed to go. He was a little more ruthless than Fury, and little . . . less liked," he determined. "People weren't thrilled with him as a successor. Heike’s boss, for example, wasn't thrilled," he said pointedly. "Considering Pierce’s favor of establishing rock solid authority, that transition was just - "

"Messy?" Bucky guessed, watching as Baron made a face.

"Something like that," he confirmed with a somewhat uncomfortable nod. "Anyway, is this about Wanda’s patient?" he asked, frowning a little as he looked at Bucky. "Were you uncomfortable treating him? I know Wanda gives a shit but she sees everyone as a slab of meat for her to stitch back up as far as I can tell, so - "

"No, it's not that," Bucky said, laughing a little at the accuracy of the assertion. "I was just a little curious, I guess."

"Foggy says Murdock’s been having to babysit the Avengers lately," Baron said, the side of his lip twitching in disapproval. "Seems a little off to me that a group of people known for violence would need much protecting, but - "

"You think they're all like that?" Busky asked. "Like that Rogers guy," he said, carefully neutral as he brought him up. "Do you think he's really that bad?"

Baron reached up, curling his palm around his mouth as he considered it. "He did sort of beat the shit out of Foggy," he said hesitantly, "though we were younger then, and it was Foggy who started that fight - "

"Seems unwise," Bucky murmured, though he didn't quite relish the thought of knowing Steve had been so ruthless, regardless of who had initiated the fight.

" - but in general, I think I'd lean towards no," Baron finished, still looking faintly uncertain about his position on the matter. "I always thought Rogers felt bad about what happened to Foggy’s dad, but then when he - "

Baron cut off, shaking his head. "I think Steve Rogers is a lot of things," he determined unhelpfully. "Smart, definitely. Could have been really successful if he'd gotten out. I assume, of course, that he thinks he's successful now, given that he's probably pretty high up in the gang," Baron said, seeming to try to be fair to him, "and he's really fucking loyal. So's Wilson," he added quickly. "It's just that their loyalties are hard fought and rarely won, and generally not in the best of terms."

"Sounds" -  _ like someone he didn’t know at all _ \- "interesting," he finished, fighting a grimace. "Thanks for telling me all that."

"Yes, you're very welcome for the history lesson," Baron smiled at him, patting the top of his head. "Now you know all the things, Dr. Barnes."

"I certainly do," he muttered, and glanced down at his phone, knowing the moment he saw the still-blank screen that what he’d just said was, unfortunately, a lie.

* * *

Steve

* * *

Steve stormed into the Tower, bursting in through the double doors of the board room.

"It was fucking Rollins," he half shouted, slamming his palms down on the table as Natasha and Fisk straightened up in alarm. Pierce, though, only glanced up slowly at his entrance, resolutely unfazed.

"I'm afraid you'll have to start from the beginning, Steven," Pierce remarked slowly, and Steve dug his fingernails into his palm, gritting his teeth in a mix of anguish and fury.

"Sharon Carter was shot and killed this morning," Steve said, feeling a strain in his chest at the words. "Once in the head," he choked out, "and then once in the shoulder," he said emphatically, feeling his volume rise again. "The fucking shoulder, Pierce- "

"And you think it was Rollins?" Pierce asked, tilting his head. "Why?"

"The shot!" Steve growled again, yanking his sleeve up to point to the scar that had been Rollin’s parting gift to him. "The shoulder?" he demanded. "That wasn't a kill shot and you know it. It was a message for me, Pierce," he spat, "Rollins is fucking coming after me - "

Fisk made a noise in the back of his throat. “It seems a bit like you're jumping to conclusions - "

"Am I?" he shouted, his hair falling into his eyes as he rounded on the police chief. "It was your fucking deputy who told me to expect something," he ranted, "that it was suspicious that we hadn't heard from him - "

"When did Murdock say that?" Fisk asked, looking skeptical before turning apologetically to Pierce. "I'm sure he didn't mean it like that."

"Mm," Pierce agreed, drumming his fingers against the table as he eyed Steve from afar. "Did you alert the authorities?"

"I'm fucking alerting them right now," Steve said in outrage, gesturing to Fisk. "There's a fucking dead body, surely we can build some kind of fucking case - "

"We can’t," Nat interjected, frowning at him. "Steve, use your head - we can’t take this to the police. You would only put the rest of us at risk for investigation."

"You’re kidding me, right?" he reared back, glaring at the redhead in disbelief. "The fucking head of the police is sitting right fucking there - "

"Steve, you know I can't do anything with this," Fisk said in a low voice. "If I do any investigating into this girl's death, it will only lead back to the Avengers- "

"This  _ girl _ ?" Steve echoed furiously. "This girl is a Carter," he said, slamming a fist down on the table. "Her aunt was an original member of this club and now--” "He choked on a breath, remembering his last glimpse of her-- at the horrifyingly vacant eyes of the girl he'd once thought he loved-- and hesitated, sucking in a labored breath. "And now - "

"I wonder, Steven," Pierce mused softly, watching him with an eerie blend of curiosity and a subtle, cruel level of amusement, "would she have been in any danger if you had not been busy indulging in your pleasure pursuits?"

Silence fell between them all. 

The implication slammed straight into Steve, drawing him back and making the breath halt in his lungs. "I," he said hesitantly, but found he couldn't argue. He'd been followed after all, he might have lead them there--  _ Bucky _ , he thought instantly, his heart pounding and ripping him to shreds, it could have been Bucky-- "I- I don't think I-- "

"Surely, you aren’t implying that this is Steve’s fault,” Nat ventured carefully. Steve, still stunned, glanced at the redhead, his mouth still open as guilt beat itself relentlessly against his chest, his heart pounding against the shaking cage of his ribs. "But we should definitely consider seeking revenge for Sharon Carter’s death?” Nat added. “Something to prove to Rollins that the Avengers won’t tolerate bloodshed.” 

For a moment, a flicker of rage flashed in Pierce’s face at the uninvited suggestion and then, as quickly as it had appeared, it faded, blending into the icy blue of his gaze.

"If this is, as Steven suspects, the work of Rumlow, or even Rollins, then I am the eventual target, and this will eventually fall to me. Angering them now without any concrete evidence of their involvement would be..." he paused, trailing off. "Unwise," he concluded, pursing his lips in displeasure at the thought.

"So that's it, then?" Steve demanded hoarsely, finding it hard to breathe. "It's unwise, and so we do nothing?"

Pierce leaned back in his chair, looking slightly annoyed. "Have Thor or Barton take care of it," he suggested to Nat. "Have them go to-- " he paused, glancing at Steve. "Carter’s home?"

"Her house," Steve confirmed grimly, shuddering as he thought of the scene; of the familiar living room and the blood soaked into the carpet, of Elektra’s fingers clenched around the limbs of her best friend’s body. "Yes."

"Interesting," Pierce ruled, curling a hand around his chin, and Steve stared at him, wondering how such a thing could be described as interesting. "Weren't you there recently, Steven?" Pierce asked, eyeing him.

Again, Steve found himself taken aback, his throat tightening suddenly. "Elektra’s in town," he tried to explain, his voice emerging in a weak and rasping croak. "Sharon had a party - "

"Well," Pierce said brightly, "perhaps your concern is invalid then." Pierce smiled reassuringly, the words accomplishing the same effect as a patronizing pat on the head. "After all, the girl was not known for her choice of company, as I'm sure you'd agree."

At that, Fisk casted his eyes down, and Natasha shifted in her seat.

"Are you saying this is her fault, then?" he asked, loosely curling a fist as he vocalized his disbelief. "Or," he added furiously, "do you still think it's mine?"

Pierce paused, smiling slightly at the recklessness of Steve’s anger. It was the warning that Pierce gave when someone was close to crossing a line. "I wouldn't know," Pierce murmured, steepling his fingers at his lips. "Would I, Steven?"

Every bit of him wanted to scream. His hands ached to make something-- someone-- hurt. To feel as much pain as he did. For them to all understand just how  _ not  _ okay this was. Pierce wanted to point the finger at him, but what about this being Pierce’s own fucking fault? Pierce is who Rollins had wanted, not Steve.

But before his actions could get him into anymore trouble than it already had, he spun on his heel, resolved to do something, anything, to treat Sharon’s death with the importance that it deserved. 

Pierce could blame him all he wanted. He was going to do something about it, and as unpleasant as the course of action would be, he would have to take the risk.

"Take Elektra to a safe house," he said gruffly, striding into the Tower’s front room and shoving his keys at Sam. "I have to run an errand and then I'll meet you there."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked helplessly. He was torn between concern for Elektra and his natural impulse to side with Steve. 

Steve gritted his teeth. "I'm going to find Murdock," he said, and felt an instant blow of misery.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get caught up so this story will be finished by Christmas 🤞

Steve

* * *

"Murdock," Steve called without hesitation, striding into the restaurant. "I need you."

Murdock cleared his throat, glancing up across the table at his companion while resolutely ignoring Steve. "He doesn't mean it how it sounds," Murdock said carefully, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "He's just very dramatic."

"Murdock!" Steve barked, ignoring the bristled look of confusion on the other man’s face, and then it registered that Murdock was probably on a date-- shockingly-- not that Steve cared in the slightest. "I'm not fucking around here - "

"Rogers," Murdock cut in neutrally, finally glancing up at him. "How did you find me?"

Instead of answering, Steve gave the man a flat look, one that had Murdock sighing at the realization of how stupid the question was. He took a deep breath as he straightened himself up, “I need to talk--”

“Pietro Maximoff, Steve Rogers,” Murdock interrupted again, gesturing between them. 

The guy-- Pietro, or whatever shit Murdock said-- dipped his head in greeting but the look on his face was stiff, like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Steve barely managed a nod in return before he stepped to the side and Murdock followed after. “Murdock, listen,” he said, stubbornly ignoring the stares he was getting from around the room. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to fucking be here--”

“Good,” Murdock returned, reaching over and picking up his glass of wine and shaking his head. “As you can clearly see I’m rather busy--” 

“-- but I have a problem. It’s about--” he paused, hesitating as he cast a hesitant glance at Murdock’s date. The guy was of a more refined taste, but there was something spunky about him, something that Steve couldn’t see Murdock appealing to. Not that he cared. “It’s about what we talked about before,” he continued. “There’s a problem.” 

"Mm," Murdock remarked, looking smug. "Well, you said so yourself, you've clearly got it handled, so - "

"It wasn't against the Avengers," he cut in, feeling the brush of irritation that Murdock was pulling this shit of all times. "It was - it was Sharon Carter," he said, his chest tightening painfully yet again at her name. "Elektra’s friend.”

At the sound of the familiar name, Murdock’s brows rose on his forehead. “Carter,” he echoed, swallowing, before glancing up at Steve. “How bad is it?” 

"Bad," he managed, shutting his eyes briefly. "Sharon, she's - " he took a breath. "She's dead."

Murdock inhaled sharply, resuming his motion so suddenly that the bottom of his glass crashed against the table with a startling lack of grace. "Why her?" he asked, shaking his head. "And why do you think it had anything to do with - "

"The car I asked you about," he interrupted, and Murdock nodded slowly, his brows furrowing together. "The sedan. I was being followed that night."

Murdock grimaced. "You should have said something," he murmured, with an underlying hint of admonishment.

"I didn't need you babysitting me," he shot back, but then quieted, remembering what he was there to do. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just - I thought that I had it under control."

"Why do you think it was - " Murdock stopped, glancing at his date and clearing his throat before letting the name Hydra slip from his lips. "Why do you think it has anything to do with our last conversation?" he asked carefully.

"I just know," he insisted. "They left me a message. I just - " he glanced around the room. "I can't talk about it now. Or here," he added, gesturing to the people in the restaurant, including Murdock’s own date. "I can't."

"Has anyone been there?" Murdock asked. "Who was the responding officer?"

Steve swallowed heavily. "The police weren't contacted," he said, hoping Murdock didn’t press the issue. "It - we took care of it. In house," he clarified, and Murdock shook his head in disbelief.

"So what do you want from me, then?" he asked, his frown deepening as he glanced again at Steve. "Call Fisk if you need something, or - "

"He won't help," Steve cut in, growing impatient with the conversation. "Just - don't make me explain right now," he insisted, with as little desperation as he could manage to withhold. "You know I wouldn't be here. You know I wouldn't  _ fucking  _ be here if this was not my last option."

Murdock took a deep breath, nodding slowly. He glanced at Pietro, who, Steve noted, had transitioned from surprise to disinterest to obvious irritation.

"I'm sorry," Murdock told his date slowly, frowning, "I'm going to have to cut this short. We can resch-"

"Let me guess," Pietro replied through pursed lips, "you're leaving me with the check?"

Murdock blinked. "No, I'm not - "

"I mean, I applaud you on your creativity," Pietro smirked, gesturing pointedly to where Steve stood waiting. "But if you didn't want to be here, you could have just - "

"I do," Murdock protested, but it was weak and even Steve could hear the lie. Then again, he knew first hand just how… excited… Murdock could get when he had his eyes on someone he wanted. If this guy was supposed to be Bucky’s replacement, Murdock was sadly going to be disappointed. "No, really, I was having a lovely time, but - "

"Forget it," Pietro said, throwing his napkin down on his plate and rising to his feet. He dug out an expensive looking wallet and pulled out a handful of bills, throwing it onto the table. "I’m covering my half only," he huffed, rolling his eyes before striding to the exit and not looking back. 

After a pause, Steve cleared his throat, shifting uneasily after he’d gone. "So - "

"Well," Murdock remarked blankly, gesturing to the vacant seat, "I suppose you might as well explain yourself while I wait for the check, then."

"Sorry," he muttered, jutting his chin in the direction Pietro had gone. "First date?"

"Yeah," Murdock confirmed with a heavy sigh. "He’s the twin of someone who works with a good friend of mine at the hospital," he explained, and Steve knew without an inch of doubt that Murdock had meant Bucky. "Unfortunately, I don't think we had all that much in common."

"Not into cops?" Steve asked wryly, shaking his head as Murdock gestured to the waiter for the bill. "Can't say I blame him."

Murdock let out a puff of air, rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t into much, that’s for certain. Or, at least he wasn’t into me,” Murdock said with a grimace. "So," he said, glancing at Steve after the waiter disappeared. "Is Ele--" he cut himself off, catching himself before a somewhat telling slip. "Is everyone else okay? Was anyone else hurt?"

"No," Steve said, exhaling sharply. "No," he repeated bitterly. "Just Sharon."

Murdock winced. "I'm sorry," he offered. "I didn't mean to make it sound like she wasn't - " he stopped, his mouth tightening in a mournful sort of sympathy. "I know she meant something to you."

"Yeah, well, it was my fault," Steve said, cupping his hand around his mouth. "At least partially."

"Don't say that," Murdock told him, shaking his head. "Don't. You weren't the one who pulled the trigger."

"No, but I led them there," he muttered, with more misery than he expected to find in his voice. For all that he'd argued with Pierce, for all that he wanted to shout it was Rollins and fucking Hydra, it was him--  _ he  _ was the monster, he did this -

He couldn’t shake the sharp stab of blame. 

"Rogers," Murdock said, and then hesitated. "Steve," he called gently, and Steve glanced up. "Why didn't Elektra call the police?"

Steve took a deep breath, yanking himself from the depths of his guilt and reseating himself in conversation. "She's the niece of a former Avenger," he supplied easily. "One of the founders. As you well know, we aren’t the biggest fans of you people with badges.” 

Murdock nodded to the waiter, and a moment passed where his card was exchanged before he turned back to Steve, his expression careful yet alarmingly aware. 

"But you came to me," he commented, and Steve could see it was a question.

He hesitated before answering, considering how much he should give. "There's things you don't know about Fisk," he said, and Murdock shut his eyes, his mouth tightening in displeasure.

"I knew it," he muttered, and when his eyes fluttered open again, his gaze had sharpened. "I suspected, but I could never - " he stopped, shaking his head. "Anyway," he sighed. "Fisk wouldn't help you?"

Steve swallowed. "Pierce doesn't want me pursuing this," he explained, leaning back as the waiter returned, nodding to them before leaving Murdock with a pen for his signature. "He refused to do anything, and Fisk won't open an investigation because it will lead back to us."

"Hm," Murdock said, signing the bill and setting the pen down thoughtfully. "Sounds like my hands are tied, then," he ventured experimentally.

"As are mine," Steve confirmed, drumming his fingers against the table.

"So what exactly do you want me to do?" Murdock asked him. It was a fair question, though not one Steve had a particularly good answer to. Steve shook his head. 

"I want you to believe me," he determined flatly, being honest.

To his surprise, Murdock nodded, pushing his chair back and rising slowly to his feet. "So," Murdock said, gesturing to the exit. "Where to?"

* * *

Bucky

* * *

Bucky heard his phone ring and felt around for it on his nightstand, rubbing sleep from his eyes and groaning as he saw the name on the screen.

"Hello?" he muttered incoherently, at which point Wanda’s voice blasted mercilessly through the phone.

"Bucky, what the fuck?" she demanded, shouting into the receiver. "Pietro just called me and apparently Matt fucking left in the middle of their date, or tried to - or fucking, I don't know - "

"Hold on," he mumbled, clearing his throat. "What?"

"Pietro and Matt were out on their date," Wanda explained impatiently, "and apparently some biker fucking dudebro came in yelling about something - "

" _ Biker _ ?" Bucky asked, suddenly fully awake. He pulled the phone from his ear to check his screen. There were no notifications. "Who was it?"

"Some - I don't know, Rogers, or whatever - he sounded like that blond guy from the Red Room that Foggy’s always bitching about," she said, her volume still unnaturally loud. "And anyway, Pietro’s convinced that Matt had him show up like that on purpose - "

"No way," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Not possible. Those two don't get along."

"Well, fucking good, then," Wanda grumbled. "Pietro’s unbelievably pissed and he won't stop yelling at me - he keeps accusing me of being 'in on it,' which, if you're following, is causing me some utter fucking  _ distress  _ \- "

"Look, I'm sorry," Bucky assured her, fighting a yawn. "I'm sure Matt didn't mean to be rude, I mean - you know him, you know how nice he is - "

"WELL HOW NICE CAN HE BE," Wanda abruptly shouted, "IF I'M HAVING TO DEAL WITH - oh, sorry, yes, here you go - "

"Where are you?" Bucky asked, frowning. "Who are you - "

"I'm at Jarvis’," Wanda sighed. "I was hoping to have a collection of orgasms tonight but unfortunately my brother is demanding I come home to, I don't know, feed him ice cream or something - "

"Did he say what Ste- "

He stopped, flinching.

"What?" Wanda yelled from afar, as though he'd suddenly gone on speaker. "Who?"

"Did Pietro say what that--" he paused, trying to think of what an appropriate term would be, "--dudebro wanted from Matt?"

"Someone's dead, I guess," she supplied, her voice returning to the receiver with no recognizable shift in tone. "I don't know, he was a little occupied with--," she breathed suddenly, and there was no missing what type of noise that was. 

He pulled his phone back from his ear, glancing at it in disbelief. "Wait," he said, making a face as he listened to Wanda’s breaths come shorter. "Are you - Jesus Christ, are you having sex right now?"

"What -- sorry, Bucky," she said quickly, "what were you saying about - "

"BYE," Bucky promptly said, hanging up and letting the phone drop against his comforter with a deeply unpleasant shudder. He gave it a few seconds before he picked his phone back up, staring at the screen, before considering what he should do. 

What he  _ could  _ do, really. 

It was telling that Steve hadn't come to him. Of course, Bucky was hardly of any use to him, but what would Steve have possibly needed a police officer for? Especially Matt, considering Steve had been… opposed to him. 

He pulled up Matt’s contact, beginning to send a text. 

**Bucky:** _ Hey, heard your date didn’t go so well. Everything okay? Did you--- _

He stopped as another text came in. One that made his heart stop. 

**From Steve:** _ I need to see you _

He bit into his lip, his mind racing. 

**Bucky:** _ I’m at home _

Before he could do anything, Steve’s reply was chiming on his phone. He held his breath. 

**From Steve:** _ I’ll be there soon _

* * *

Steve

* * *

"So you think Hydra is responsible," Murdock said slowly, pacing the safe house’s living room as he recapped their conversation. "And you want to - what, then," he prompted, frowning. "Go after him?"

"You know him better than I do," Steve reminded him. "Is that a possibility?"

Murdock let out a sound that was nearly a scoff, though he clearly didn't possess it in himself to do so. "Not a very good one," he said, shaking his head. "You'd be outgunned for certain."

"You don't actually know that," Sam countered, arching a brow.

"I don't, no," Murdock agreed, "but I'd be willing to stake my life on it." He looked up at Steve. "Are you?" he asked, letting his intent carry between them.

"My life? Gladly," Steve muttered. "I'd happily take the chance, considering I already owe Rollins a fucking bullet for the one he put in me - "

"But he didn't go after you," Murdock reminded him. "He went after someone you cared about. He could do it again," he said, his gaze traveling to where Elektra sat beside Sam. "He could come back if he doesn't get what he wants."

"What does he fucking want?" Steve demanded. "There was no message," he growled in frustration, "just the extra shot - "

"I actually find that very strange," Murdock remarked. "The lack of message, I mean."

"Well, presumably he wants Pierce," Sam ventured, leaning forward. "Doesn't he?"

"But he went after Rogers," Murdock said slowly, then paused, shaking his head. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"Does he normally make sense?" Steve asked. "Are we even talking about someone who functions within any clear rationality?"

"Generally, yes," Murdock said bluntly. "I mean, it's possible Hydra is angrier than usual, considering the insult from Pierce- but," he continued emphatically, frowning. "Even then, Rollins’, or even Rumlow’s kills usually come with a very distinct message."

"More distinct than the shoulder shot?" Sam asked.

"Uh, yeah," Murdock confirmed, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I'm talking about a message in the victim's blood, or a note with their demands stapled to their forehead."

Sam sighed heavily. "Fuck," he muttered. "Fucking christ - "

"You'd be surprised how quiet this part of the city is compared to what I've seen in Hell’s Kitchen," Murdock muttered, shaking his head. "It would be about the worst possible news if Hydra really did bring their business here- "

"Could you stop?" Elektra cut in quietly, prompting them all to turn in her direction. Her eyes were swollen still, and she hadn't made a sound in the hour they'd been talking. "I realize that you've seen worse, but wasn't - " she shut her eyes, swallowing heavily. "Wasn't what happened to my friend bad enough?"

"Yes," Murdock said instantly, taking a quick step in her direction but then halting, looking like he'd forced himself not to reach for her. "Yes, Elektra, I'm so sorry - I hadn't - " he stopped, looking mortified. "I wasn't thinking."

She said nothing. Sam reached over, brushing a loose black strand of hair from her shoulder. "You shouldn't go home for a bit," he murmured, tracing his thumb along her cheek. "You live alone, and - "

"I can take care of myself," she interrupted bitterly, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. "I don't want to be here."

Steve shook his head. "It’s out of the question," he said firmly, and Elektra glanced up, glaring at him. "You're staying with one of us. There’s no debate."

"I have a job, Steve," she reminded him. "And you might not care about the life I pulled together for myself but I certainly do, and - "

"Fucking of course we care," Sam reminded her, his sharp. "Personally, I'd rather not let you out of our fucking sight - "

Steve sighed in frustration. "But she shouldn't stay here," he realized, shaking his head. "If anyone comes after me again, I'd think my apartment would be a bit of a fucking giveaway."

"She'll come with me," Sam said, without hesitation. "It's fine, I'll just - "

"Do you really think that's any better?" Murdock asked them pointedly. "You were with Rogers when the deal went south," he reminded Sam, "and it's not a secret that you're close." He shook his head. "Neither of you are particularly well-equipped to maintain a safehouse at the moment."

"So what, then, Murdock?" Steve demanded. "We're not letting her go home."

Elektra sighed. "Stop it. You really can't - "

"No," Steve gritted out. "No, not fucking acceptable. You think they’d stop after Sharon? There’s no telling what they’ll do. You need to stay safe."

"Have you forgotten who I am?" she countered furiously, rising to her feet. "Have you forgotten who raised me, Steve?"

Steve shook his head in frustration. "You're not thinking straight-- "

" _ Look _ ," Sam interrupted, stepping between them. "You're not the only one associated with the Avengers who's having problems, Elektra," he informed her quietly. "We know you can take care of yourself, but not like this - I mean, Danver’s fucking aunt's been threatened - "

"Carol Danvers was a groupie," she spat, brushing past him. "She wasn't the real thing. I'm different," she said firmly, pulling her shoulders back and closing the distance between herself and Steve to brandish a warning finger in his face. "It's in my fucking blood - "

"It was in Sharon’s blood, too," Steve shouted at her, losing his temper. "And she's fucking  _ gone _ , Natchios!" He sank back, leaning against his kitchen table. "She's gone," he muttered hoarsely. Murdock cleared his throat, stepping over to him.

"If Elektra wants to go home, she can go home," Murdock said quietly. "It's not up to you to determine what's best for her."

"Fuck off, Murdock," Sam snapped bitterly. "You have no fucking clue."

Murdock said nothing for a moment, watching the three of them stand stiffly in their respective areas of the room before speaking again.

"Elektra," Murdock said eventually, taking a step towards her. "If you want to go home, I'll make sure they don't stop you."

"The fuck did you just say, Murdock?" Steve demanded, stiffening. "You think you can just - "

Murdock held up a hand, watching Elektra’s face. "But," he continued coolly, "if you can recognize that they care about you - and that they're right," he added, at which point she glanced at her feet, "then maybe you would consider sticking around here while we try to sort out what happened to your friend. You can stay with me," he informed her quietly. "Hydra wouldn't have any reason to look for you there, nor would anyone else." He glanced up at Steve, who didn't move. "If you're willing to listen to them - to us," Murdock finished, turning back to her, "I promise to keep you safe."

Elektra said nothing, still looking down. Across the room, Sam exhaled slowly, a telling sign of agreement.

"It's not a bad idea," Sam told her. "I mean, he's not my first choice, but" - he paused, shaking his head - "he is making sense. We want you safe," he added. "Whoever can fucking keep you safe, I want you with them."

Elektra tilted her head, glancing warily at Steve.

"It's better for you," Steve told her quietly. "We can't lose you, too," he said, swiping a hand over his cheek. "We won't lose you the way we lost her."

Elektra shook her head, looking torn and trapped, before glancing at Murdock with what Steve could tell was defeat.

"A week," she said bluntly. "One week. I'll cancel my clients for a week."

Murdock shrugged. "Fine," he said. "If that's what you want." He glanced between Sam and Steve for confirmation before resuming focus on her. "I just want you to be taken care of."

"Well I want a shower," she muttered, "and I want to sleep until it stops hurting."

At that, Murdock looked haunted. "It never does," he told her quietly. "But I can help you all the same."

She managed a weary nod, not straying from their silent shared glance. Eventually Sam took a step towards her, gripping her shoulder comfortingly.

"I'll take you back to Murdock’s car," he said, wrapping his arms around Elektra in a sorrowful farewell as Murdock took a step towards Steve.

"You're good with this?" Murdock asked him quietly, and Steve grimaced.

"Better than sending her back to Hell’s Kitchen alone," he muttered, and Murdock gave a single, brief nod in agreement. "Thanks for doing this."

"I'll check out the apartment tomorrow," Murdock offered. "See if Hydra left any traces."

Steve nodded again. "Good," he said, and then they joined Sam near the door.

"Steve," Sam said, sidling up to him to speak privately. "You know what you have to do, right?"

Steve glanced at him, frowning. "What the fuck are you - "

"You heard Murdock," Sam murmured. "Anyone you care about is in danger right now."

"There's no one," he began, desperately trying to deny it. "I'm not - "

" _ Don't _ ," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "You fucking know what you have to do."

It was several minutes after the door shut behind them that Steve pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking as he tapped the familiar comfort of Bucky’s name.

**S:** _ I need to see you.  _

Right after the message was sent, he wondered just how badly he’d fucked up. 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

Steve was shaking when he showed up at Bucky’s door. There was so much anguish on his face that Bucky was pulling him into his arms as fast as he could, the questions that he’d been dying to ask suddenly evaporating from his tongue, useless and unimportant with Steve there now. 

"Steve," he whispered to him, running his palms up and down Steve’s spine. "Steve, are you okay?"

"No," Steve said, shaking his head as he buried his face in the dip of Bucky’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky. "No, I'm not."

He wanted to ask what happened, but he found he couldn’t speak. All that mattered was that Steve was there with him. Whatever Steve needed from him, Steve seemed to be taking it, holding him as tightly as muscle and bone would allow. Bucky tried to pull him further inside but Steve wouldn’t budge, as if any motion might break him. 

“I’m not a good person,” he murmured into Bucky’s ear, kissing his cheek and then pulling back to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. “I’m knee deep in fucking crime and ciolence and shit--”

"It doesn't matter," Bucky told him, and for a wild, reckless moment he really believed that it didn't. "I don't care - "

"You have to," Steve said, shaking his head. "You  _ have  _ to - one of us has to be the smart one, Doc, and I can't - " he broke off, sliding his hand up the back of Bucky’s neck to tangle his fingers in Bucky’s hair. "I can only tell you that I am bad for you," he said finally, "and I have to stay away."

"Away," Bucky repeated, pulling back to look at him. "What-- what are you saying?"

Steve’s blue eyes sharpened in the dim light of Bucky’s entryway.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully," he said, and Bucky felt a devastating shock of fear settle into his blood. "I need you to be as fucking careful as you possibly can. Always deadbolt your door when you're at home," he said, rushing through his frantic instructions, "and don't ever let anyone in when you're alone - "

Bucky shook his head, Steve’s desperation starting to make him panic. "What? I'm not a child, Steve," he said. "I know how to - "

"No,  _ stop _ ," Steve demanded, shaking his head furiously. "When you go home from work, have someone walk you to your car. Have fucking" - he waved a hand - "have fucking Murdock escort you if you have to. Be  _ safe _ ," Steve pleaded with him, holding Bucky’s face between his palms. "Be safe, Barnes, I'm begging you - "

"Okay," he said, suddenly struggling with tears he didn't understand. "Okay, I'll be safe."

"I need you to," Steve said, tracing his thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip. "I need to know you'll be safe, Bucky, I need to know that - "

"I will," he assured him, reaching up to take Steve’s hands in his own. "I will - "

"I can't stay," he choked out, gasping like the words were burning him from the inside out. "I want to - fuck," he swore maniacally, "I fucking want to, but I can't stay - "

"Why not?" Bucky asked, rising on his toes and desperately brushing his lips against Steve’s. "Why can't you stay with me?"

Steve shook his head, shutting his eyes. "I shouldn't even be here now," he said, somewhat angrily, like he'd let himself down. "I shouldn't have come but I couldn't - I couldn't just - "

"What?" Bucky asked breathlessly, and then Steve’s mouth descended on his, taking from Bucky a greedy, heated kiss that brought Bucky colliding with the wall behind him, the impact of wood and ivory paint nothing compared to the ache of Steve, the sheer force of what he was.

The kiss was starved and desperate, and for the first time since Bucky’d met him, Steve took more than he gave, stealing Bucky’s breath with the way he starvingly pulled at Bucky’s hair, at his waist, at his hips, ridding them of any distance between them and replacing any absence with himself. It was a kiss so bruising that it was painful, as though Steve’s only thought was to leave a mark-- to last, to stay, to continue to be with Bucky, the way Steve himself so resolutely denied.

The length of the kiss itself was pulses, breaths, heartbeats - and then Steve moved away for a moment that felt like eternity, shifting Bucky’s hands to take them in his before shoving something cold and metallic in his palms and forcefully closing Bucky’s fingers around it.

"Promise me you'll be safe," he said, taking hold of Bucky’s face with one hand. "Promise me."

"I promise," Bucky said, dazed, knowing what was coming and wanting to fight it-- wanting desperately to hold on, to hold Steve--

"Promise," Steve said again, giving him another brusque shove of a kiss. " _ Promise _ ."

"I promise," Bucky said, nodding hysterically. "Steve, I promise - "

Steve swallowed. "I - " he began, and Bucky held his breath, waiting. "I'm going to miss you," Steve ground out in misery, his grip tightening in Bucky’s hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead and walking away, yanking Bucky’s door open and striding through it without looking back.

Bucky looked down at the item Steve had pressed in his hands. It was a gun, dark and taunting as the door shut behind Steve.

A  _ gun _ .

The first Bucky’d ever held.

"Steve," he whispered, bringing one hand up to his lips. "What did you do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get dicey!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly dialogue heavy, but it has to happen to get things a bit more spicy :)

Steve

* * *

"Steve," he heard from somewhere above him, feeling a hand on his shoulder. "Steve, wake up."

He stirred, making a face as he tasted the remnant foulness of whiskey that scraped along the back of his tongue and squinted at the face above him, muttering curses under his breath. He reached up, swatting impatiently at Sam. 

"Go away," he muttered, burying his face in his arm. "I'm busy."

Sam sighed, straightening, and Steve caught a glimpse of a red dress from his periphery and realized they were not alone.

"Steve," Sam said, with remarkable patience. "You remember Gamora?"

Steve bolted upright, bringing a hand to his throbbing temple and groaning. "Why are you here?" he mumbled, before blinking rapidly and registering that he'd been sleeping on Sam’s couch. "Oh," he said, checking the time; ten o'clock at night. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Sam said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I mean, you can stay here," he said uncomfortably, "but - "

"But I'd advise against it," Gamora interrupted. "I don't mean to be rude, but there's a very good chance I'll be loud." She paused, eyeing her scarlet fingernails. "Disruptively loud, or so I've heard."

"Fuck," Sam muttered under his breath, turning to glance at her. "Can you not make this harder than it is?"

"Fine, fuck, I'm leaving," Steve said, pulling at his mouth and trying to focus on them. Gamora, he could see, was wearing a draw-dropping fitted red dress, and it suddenly occurred to him that Sam’s patience with him, given the circumstances, was likely bordering on sainthood. "Sorry, I was - " he looked around, realizing he was shirtless. "Where's my - "

"Rogers," Gamora said, cocking her head to gesture. She reached down, picking up his shirt with two fingers and tossing it lightly towards him. "Rough day?"

"Something like that," Steve muttered, picking it up from where it landed on the couch and struggling to pull it over his head. "Overdid it this morning, I guess."

"This morning," Gamora commented, glancing skeptically at Sam. "Rogers, I'm no expert, but that sounds problematic."

"I highly doubt there's anything you're not an expert in," Sam told her appreciatively, and she shrugged, returning her attention to her fingernails.

"Some things are just hobbies," she said, looking up to let her gaze flick suggestively over him. "Other things I make an effort to know more thoroughly."

"God, I'm going to enjoy this," Sam remarked, shaking his head. "Fuck me," he muttered with a sigh, glancing apologetically at Steve. "Bad timing."

"Yeah," Steve said, a hand on his forehead as he waved Sam away. "Just go. I'm - " he forced a swallow, squinting around for his keys. "Moving slowly."

"What happened to you?" Gamora asked, her arms crossed over her chest. "Does this have to do with that phone call you took at the warehouse?"

"Yeah," Steve said again, hefting to his feet and then returning to the couch as his head spun. "Fuck," he swore loudly, and Sam sighed.

"There's no way you can ride right now," he said, glancing at Gamora. "Your place?" he suggested.

"My asshole of a roommate is there," Gamora said, making a face. "Tends to ruin things."

"I'm happy to fuck you in front of her," Sam offered, shrugging. "Or, you know, something else invasive. Seems like she sort of deserves it."

"You know, oddly, I find your stubbornness a bit sweet," Gamora commented, reaching out to tug on one of his belt loops. "You're very obnoxious."

"Yes," Sam agreed, "and full of joy."

"I'm going to fucking vomit," Steve muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not because of this," he added, waving a hand at them, "but it certainly doesn't help."

"Were you just drinking alone all day?" Gamora asked, letting Sam slide an arm around her waist and tug her beside him. "Or … longer?" she amended, eyeing the many bottles on the floor. "I mean, not to judge - "

"Everyone needs hobbies," Sam quipped.

" - but it just seems - " She paused, tilting her head. "Odd." She looked Steve up and down, eyeing him. "I sort of took you for the responsible type."

"I'm fine," Steve said, clearing his throat. "I just - " He shook his head. "I'm fine."

Sam paused for a moment, watching Steve closely before leaning over to brush Gamora’s hair from her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. "Be right back," he murmured, slipping away to the kitchen.

"Well then," Gamora said, taking a seat beside Steve and tucking her legs underneath her. "Might as well tell me what happened."

"Yes, because we're such good friends," Steve snapped, the effort making his brain pound. "Sounds perfect."

"Well, you're clearly not going anywhere, and I'm clearly not having sex yet," she remarked. "So it seems like you'll have to, doesn't it?"

Steve sighed miserably, leaning back against the couch and waiting for the room to stop spinning. "My - someone I knew," he said, amending the thought with another twinge of guilt. "She was killed last week. And then - " he shut his eyes, trying desperately not to think about Bucky-- about his laugh, about the way it felt to hold him, how heavenly it was to be inside of him. About the way Bucky was so fucking pure and Steve was just fucking garbage-- "And then that's it," he determined finally. "Just that first part."

"Oh, wow, I’ve never heard of a truer sounding story,” she remarked, just as Sam returned from the kitchen. 

"Water for you," he said, handing Steve a glass. "Advil on the table. For you," he said, turning to Gamora, "champagne."

"Champagne?" she asked, accepting the glass and sniffing it. "You're sure?"

Sam paused, grinning. "Sparkling wine," he amended. "Better?"

"No, not really," she said airily. "You need to be accurate about these things."

"Just drink it," he said, toasting her, "and allow me to share my various forms of expertise with you later."

"Hm," she primly agreed, and as Steve caught a whiff of the alcohol from her glass, he immediately fought the compulsion to gag.

"Fuck," he muttered, forcing the water down his throat. "What did I drink?"

"Everything," Sam answered. "Minus the champagne." At Gamora’s cough, he rolled his eyes. "Sparkling wine. Whatever."

"You'll need to recover," Gamora informed him, taking a sip from her glass. "Ego’s got a new shipment in this weekend. Based on the payments I've been handling for him," she added, raising a brow, "you'll both be receiving instruction shortly."

"What is this, a client meeting?" Steve grumbled, groaning as some of the water spilled onto his shirt. "Fuck - "

"What do you mean based on the payments you've handled for him?" Sam asked, frowning at her as he took a seat on his coffee table and settled himself across from her. "You said that like it means something."

"Everything I say means something," Gamora reminded him, shifting to place her feet in his lap and smirking as Sam’s eyes instantly drifted to the exposed skin of her thigh. "What's the question?"

"Why would you think we'd be called in?" Steve asked, allowing Sam to enjoy his distraction. "Some shipment in particular?"

"No," she said, frowning slightly. "But considering how much Ego’s paying-- "

"How much is he paying?" Steve interrupted, leaning forward and catching Sam’s eye.

Gamora laughed a little, reclining in her seat to settle her legs on either side of Sam’s hips. "That's something to take up with your employer," she warned, shaking her head admonishingly at Steve. "Advice from one professional to another."

"You're a criminal," Sam reminded her playfully, sliding a hand up her calf.

"One criminal to another, then," Gamora conceded, shrugging. "Still, we both have our respective forms of etiquette." She jumped a little as Sam’s hand slid up her leg but quickly hid the motion, brushing her lip along her glass as she continued to toy with him. "I'm not at liberty to discuss Ego’s finances."

"You've already said quite a bit," Steve informed her. "If you think Pierce’s got any sort of priority over Ego’s other buyers, then he clearly stands to make a shit ton of money off the Avengers."

Gamora inclined her head, neither denying nor confirming. "I find it's best to know who you work for," she commented lazily, glancing pointedly at him. "If you've got a problem with your boss, that's not my issue."

"You trust Ego, then?" Sam asked, slowly lifting her leg to remove the strap of her left shoe.

"I run his books," Gamora reminded them, unfazed, before nudging her right foot against Sam’s chest for him to remove the other shoe. "The best way to know what kind of man you're working for is to see how he spends his money."

"Are you saying you admire Ego’s purchases?" Steve asked, scoffing, and she shrugged.

"You can mock me all you want, but I know what I'm talking about," she told him. "Trust and money are both forms of currency, and if you can't see how a man dispenses one-- " she cut herself off, inhaling sharply as Sam pulled her forward to settle her on his lap. "Then you can't be sure what he does with the other," she murmured, reaching up to put her hands on either side of Sam’s face and moaning softly as he brought his lips to her neck.

"Well," Steve said, slapping his hands against his thighs as he promptly leaned forward. "I can see I'm going to have to recover elsewhere." He looked around, searching for his phone. "Have you seen-- "

There was a muffled ringing from underneath the pillow beside him and Steve grunted his displeasure as he felt around for it, trying not to watch Gamora tug Sam’s head back. She had her fingers raking against his scalp, giving him a slow, teasing kiss that gave Steve flashbacks to Bucky, to the look in Bucky’s eyes when Steve touched him, to the image of Steve’s name on Bucky’s lips, to the sounds Bucky made when Steve--

"Hello?" he muttered, seeing Nat’s name on the screen and forcing himself to answer, grimacing in apology as Sam turned his head to arch one brow in disapproval.

"Steve," Nat said, her voice clipped and businesslike. "I need you to go to the hospital."

"The - hospital," Steve repeated, feeling a lurch. "Why?"

"Fisk called. Castle’s been stabbed," she explained, somewhat impatiently, as though Castle had done this with the intention of disrupting her day. "Pierce and I are currently running an errand, but someone should be there-- "

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he said, swallowing as he rose to his feet, seeking out his keys. "I'll be right there. Where did it happen?"

"The tower,” she said. "Or something. Fisk said it's gory," she added, in a way that Steve knew meant she was rolling her eyes. "Just get there and sign papers, or whatever it is that they need to be handled. Cover up anything you have to," she added. "Barton and Thor are taking care of things at the tower."

Steve frowned. "What would I have to - "

"Just go, Steve," she snapped. "Take care of it."

"Natasha," Steve half shouted, but the other line cut out. He stared momentarily at his phone before bending with a growl to pick up the Advil from the table, shaking three out of the bottle and shoving them in his mouth. "Castle was stabbed," he told Sam, who had pulled away from Gamora long enough to turn questioningly to Steve. "I'm going to the hospital."

"What?" Sam asked, jerking forward with Gamora still on his lap. "Frank?"

"Yeah. Nat didn't say anything useful," he said. "But I can call you, if - " He gestured to Gamora, shrugging. "You know."

"No, I - " Sam stopped, glancing at her and letting his face fall. "I'm so sorry," he exhaled, "really, you can't fucking believe how sorry I am - "

"It's fine," Gamora said, rising gracefully to her feet as Sam awkwardly pulled at his jeans. "I understand by this point that you two enjoy taking mysterious phone calls and running off into the night."

Sam grimaced. "I know what it looks like, but I really, really - "

"Sam," she said, leaning forward to rest one hand on his shoulder. "We're in the same line of work. I understand that some phone calls must be taken," she offered smoothly, "and that some trips to the hospital can’t be avoided." She kissed him quickly, her hand sliding up to curve her thumb around his jaw. "However," she said, her hand slipping to tighten warningly around his neck, "if you don't fuck me to absolute satisfaction the next time I see you - "

"No need to threaten me," Sam assured her, letting her grip skate across his throat. "I'll happily kill myself if that's the case, thanks."

"Are we going?" Steve interrupted. "You ready?"

"Fuck you," Sam said, groaning as he picked Gamora up with one arm and set her back on her feet. "Let's get out of here before I change my mind," he muttered, and Steve helpfully took hold of his shoulder, forcefully dragging him out the door.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

"Fucking brutal," Baron said to Bucky with a low whistle, shutting the door behind him as he walked into the corridor. "It's been a long time since I've seen that much blood loss."

"Is it just blood loss?" Bucky asked, peering at the circle of doctors and paramedics through the window. "Internal injuries too?"

"Some," Baron said, shaking his head. "They're examining him and then we'll see, I guess."

"Who is he?" Bucky asked just as Matt strode up to him in uniform, looking simultaneously distressed and exhausted.

"Any word?" Matt asked, shaking his head in displeasure. "I hate that it was him."

"Who is he?" Bucky pressed again, and Matt grimaced.

"Frank Castle," Matt answered, and Bucky shrugged blankly, not recognizing the name. "An Avenger. One of the better ones," he added, looking solemn. "One of the others found him half-dead at their place."

"Jesus," Bucky breathed, biting his lip. "How bad?"

"Really bad," Matt replied, his mouth twitching. "You didn't see?" Bucky shook his head. "Stab wound," Matt explained. "But - "

"He's got something carved into his chest," Baron told him, looking sickened. "A word, or some letters - "

"Pierce," Matt informed him flatly. "It's a name."

"Pierce?" Bucky echoed. "Like-- " He looked around, checking that nobody was listening. "Alex Pierce?"

Matt glanced sharply at him. " _ Alex _ ? You know him?"

"I - no," Bucky said faintly, hurriedly shaking his head. "I mean, I met him once - "

"You  _ met  _ him?" Matt repeated, turning to face him square on. "When?"

"I mean, it wasn't a big deal," Bucky quickly told him. "He was at the hospital with one of Wanda’s patients, Coulson-- "

"Phil Coulson?" Matt asked, pulling anxiously at the corners of his mouth as he frowned in concentration. "When was this?"

"I-- I don't know-- I guess last Friday?" he said, chewing his lip. "Early in the day."

"How long was he there?" Matt pressed, and Bucky shook his head, a little startled by the urgency in his voice.

"I don't know," he stammered. "I could check the visitor logs - "

"No, no, I can do that myself," Matt murmured, shaking his head. "I just - " he looked up at Bucky, frowning slightly. "Sorry," he assured him quickly. "I just-- I had a theory about something, but it doesn't look like it's possible, so I guess - "

" _ Murdock _ ," Bucky heard from behind them, a voice that made his heart twist in his chest. He held his breath as Steve sidled up to Matt, his brow creased with worry. "What happened?" he asked, before suddenly catching sight of Bucky. 

Bucky watched Steve’s eyes change as the blond noticed him, watched Steve swallow, saw Steve nearly flinch and half wondered if he would let himself reach out and--

"Frank was stabbed," Matt told him, shaking his head. "I had a feeling something would happen at the tower after the shit with the alarm - "

"I...," Steve began, his attention still caught on Bucky as he tore his gaze back to Matt’s and forced a swallow. "I don't - "

"Murdock," Sam Wilson called, arriving a few steps behind Steve. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded, and Bucky frowned slightly, noticing a familiarity between the three of them that he didn't think had been there the last time he saw them interact.

Matt grimaced. "This is Hydra’s work. Unquestionably."

Steve’s eyes narrowed. "Does that mean - "

"Later," Matt warned in a low voice, shaking his head. "But suffice it to say the name Pierce sliced into Frank’s chest is more along the lines of the kinds of messages I was talking about from Rollins and Rumlow."

"Hydra," Baron interrupted in confusion, prompting the others to remember his presence. "The drug gang from Hell’s Kitchen?"

Matt briefly shut his eyes, visibly kicking himself. "We shouldn't be discussing this right now," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Sorry, that was careless of me - "

He reached up, rubbing his forehead, and Bucky noticed again how tired he looked.

"Baron," Matt said absentmindedly as he gestured to Steve and Sam, "this is - "

"We know each other," Sam said, before looking toward Bucky. "But you are?"

"Nobody," he said quickly. "I just, um - "

"You need to talk to him," Matt said, stepping closer to Bucky and taking hold of his arm, giving Sam a meaningful glance. "He spoke to Pierce last Friday."

" _ What _ ?" Steve suddenly demanded, his voice several levels too loud. "When? How?"

"I," he began, and then took a breath, remembering Steve’s warning. They weren’t supposed to know each other and they  _ certainly  _ weren’t supposed to talk so easily to one another either. "Sorry," he said quickly, clearing his throat and meeting Steve’s eye. "You are?"

Steve blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Steve Rogers," he said slowly, forcing it between gritted teeth before gesturing to Sam. "This is Sam Wilson."

"Dr. Barnes," he informed them coolly, nodding to each of them before turning back to Matt. "And as I said, I'm not sure I have much to tell you without checking the visitor's log - "

"Deputy," they heard behind them, another police officer arriving to tap Matt’s shoulder. "I just need you to sign off on some of these, please - "

"Right, sorry," Matt agreed, turning away. "I'll find you in a minute," he said to Steve and Sam before leaning over to kiss Bucky’s cheek. "Thanks, Bucky, sorry if I took too much of your time--"

"No problem," Bucky said, waving him away. "Anyway," he said, nodding in Baron’s direction, "we have a patient who'll probably need surgery, so we should really get back to him."

"Take good care of him," Sam told him gruffly, nudging Steve in the ribs. "In the meantime, we should go see if they need anything," he suggested to Steve. "I think we have to - "

The words disappeared as Sam continued to speak over his shoulder, seeking out hospital staff. In the same moment Baron turned, distracted by a question from one of the nurses, and Bucky was alone with Steve for the span of a breath, the dull roar of the hospital reduced to static in his ears as he met Steve’s eye, suffering the familiar impact of them.

"I need to talk to you," Steve mouthed, his blue eyes flashing with urgency, and then Sam turned back around and time resumed.

" - probably should get, I don't know, insurance papers or whatever, so - "

"Dr. Barnes," Dr. Strange said, materializing at his side. "You'll be scrubbing in for this." He turned to walk down the corridor, gesturing behind him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, coming," Bucky said instantly, nodding quickly and turning to follow before skidding to a sudden pause. "If you need anything," he offered, giving Steve a meaningful glance over his shoulder. "I'll be available after the surgery to answer your questions."

Steve nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice chilled by forced courtesy.

The last thing he saw before he left for the OR was the familiar light that glinted from around the leather of Steve’s shoulders. He blinked away the glow of Steve, letting it warm him and curse him in a single blow as Bucky forced himself to walk away.

* * *

Steve

* * *

The image of Bucky walking away from him shook him harder than the lingering headache that still thudded against his head, crawling around in his brain and taunting him. He watched Bucky reach up as he walked, rubbing out an obvious cramp of exhaustion in his neck before taking a breath and throwing his shoulders back-- but as Bucky glanced at the surgeon beside him and nodded, Steve saw again what he'd witnessed in Bucky that first night; that moment of sharpened concentration, the breathtaking intensity of Bucky’s mind.

It was that moment of stillness and focus right before the engine roared to life - the certainty that preempted the pull of a trigger. Watching Bucky, Steve could hear a pin drop.

He felt a certain degree of shame at forgetting why he'd come-- at knowing it was Castle’s life that hung in the balance and yet he could only manage to focus on that spark in Bucky’s eye - but he trusted Bucky, despite knowing another surgeon likely held the scalpel. He trusted Bucky’s presence. There was something about knowing Bucky was there that made Steve, an unapologetic cynic, somehow hopeful; somehow eased.

After all, Bucky had saved him once, hadn't he?

"Hey," Matt said, interrupting Steve’s thoughts and jogging over to them. "Sorry," he offered hastily, waving a hand. "Bureaucracy. Anyway," he continued, as though he hadn't just been absent for a considerable length of time, "as I was saying - "

"So you're saying this was Hydra," Steve supplied, crossing his arms. "You're sure?"

Matt nodded. "Positive," he said, and he certainly sounded convinced. "Call it a gut feeling," he conceded, "but I've got a pretty good gut."

"What about Sharon, then?" Sam asked, rising to his feet to join them. "You think that was someone different?"

Murdock paused, hesitating. "I'd had a theory," he replied slowly, his mouth twitching into a frown. "Honestly, I thought it was Pierce," he murmured, glancing somewhat sheepishly between them.

Sam and Steve looked at each other for a moment and then instinctively stepped closer, lowering their volume.

"You  _ thought _ ? Past tense?" he repeated, looking around. He knew Pierce didn't literally have ears everywhere, but still, it didn't seem safe to discuss at any reasonable volume. "You don't think so anymore?"

"Couldn't have been him," Murdock ruled, shaking his head. "I checked-- Bucky was right. He was here when it happened."

"Well, so it wasn't him personally, then," Sam said with a troubled sigh. "It's not like Pierce doesn't have plenty of other people who could have done it for him - "

"Everyone else is accounted for," Murdock told him, shaking his head. "Every other Avenger was either at the tower or here at the hospital," he added. "Pierce was here to visit Coulson.” 

Sam made a face of revulsion, and Steve shook his head. "You're sure?" he pressed. "Everyone's accounted for? Even-- " he hesitated, holding his breath slightly as he toed a somewhat indefinable line of betrayal. "Even Natasha?"

Murdock nodded. “Yeah, even her. She was at the shop with the others.”

"Barton, then? Or Thor?" Sam cut in, but Murdock shook his head again.

"Only two people are unaccounted for, and that's the two of you," he said pointedly, gesturing between Steve and Sam. "Care to tell me what you were up to?"

They exchanged a heavy look with each other. Ego’s warehouse wasn't particularly an answer they wanted to give.

"No, we do not," Sam answered flatly, as Steve bent to rub his temple, clearing his throat.

"You know it wasn't us," he reminded Murdock. "No point wasting our fucking time." He glanced up, feeling his expression contort at the accusation. "And anyway, who's to say it wasn't Fisk?"

Murdock’s eyes flashed, scowling. "You really think a police officer would do that? You think he would kill someone," he said emphatically, "and then turn around and lie about it to your face?"

"Uh...  _ yeah _ ," Sam countered bitterly, scoffing. "It's not like Fisk’s some kind of untouchable hero, Murdock-- "

Murdock shook his head. "Still," he muttered. "There's a pretty fucking big difference between murder and-- " he broke off, shaking his head. "I don't know. Conspiracy, I guess."

"A dirty cop is a dirty cop," Steve countered. "Either a man's got a conscience or he doesn't."

"Oh really," Murdock retorted drily. "You, Rogers," he remarked pointedly, "who can't even tell me what you were doing while Sharon was killed, really wants to talk to me about a man with a conscience?"

"I've got a fucking code, okay?" he sniped back. "Clearly Fisk doesn't - and what a shock that is," he added sarcastically, "considering what an upstanding citizen Fisk has always been - a truly perfect public servant-- "

"Is this really about Fisk?" Murdock demanded, cutting him off and rounding on him. "Or is this what you think about me, Rogers? I'm a cop, in case you've forgotten," he hissed quietly, his hand going instinctively to his badge. "And I'm consorting with Avengers too, apparently-- so does that make me equally suspect?"

"Oh, fuck off, Murdock," Sam said, scowling. "You know that's different."

"How?" Murdock asked, throwing his hands in the air. "What exactly makes me any different from Fisk in your sophisticated criminal minds?" he prompted obnoxiously.

"We are fucking different," Steve returned, pointing to himself and Sam and feeling his color rise in frustration. "We are not Alexander Pierce, and that's the fucking crux of the issue, isn't it?"

"If you're really so different from him, then prove it. Tell me where you were," Murdock shot back. "Just tell me what the fuck you were doing that day so you have a goddamn alibi - "

"This is not helpful," Steve cut in flatly. "I don't want to tell you where I was any more than you want to hear it, Murdock-- "

"Fucking fantastic," Murdock muttered.

"--and whatever larger philosophical point you're trying to make here, the fact remains that you know perfectly well that we didn't do it," Steve added, "and now we're just wasting our time pointing fingers."

"Agreed," Sam huffed. "Ask your 'pretty good' gut, Murdock, as I'm sure it will happily remind you that it probably wasn't the two people that came to their cop nemesis for help, despite the fact that their boss would probably blow a -  _ fuck _ ," he growled, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Hold on - "

"Cop nemesis," Murdock repeated, shaking his head as Sam glanced down and frowned, wandering away to take the call. "That's really what you think of me?"

It wasn't, Steve knew, but he hardly had the time to dive into the semantics.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, foregoing any attempt to ease the situation. "That I like you? Or," he said, laughing coldly, "that I wanted to be friends with you because I fucking …  _ admire  _ your ethics or something?"

Murdock stiffened, but seemed to think better of making a response, shutting his eyes briefly and then letting out a heavy sigh.

"You know what, fine," Murdock said. "Listen, I'll just let you know if I hear about anything else, and in the meantime - " he waved a hand carelessly. "Fuck it. Whatever. It's late," he muttered. "I'm going home." He turned, starting to walk away before thinking of something. Steve waited, but the man seemed to have thought better of it. "We'll talk later," Murdock tossed over his shoulder, picking up speed as he headed towards the hospital exit.

"Great," Steve drawled after him, looking up in time to see Pierce walking through the door with Nat, both eyeing Murdock’s exiting form with suspicion before glancing at each other, shaking their heads.

"Hey," Steve called to them, trying immediately to act normal. "You're here."

"Just stopping by before we head to the tower," Pierce said, adjusting his jacket. "How's Frank?"

"In surgery," Steve replied. "No word yet."

"Are you alone?" Nat asked, looking around.

"No, Sam was here," he answered, gesturing in the direction he'd disappeared. "He took a call, I guess - "

"Probably about Carol Danvers’ aunt," Nat muttered. "Thor’s all worked up about it, which certainly makes for an irritating evening." She exchanged a look with Pierce, who smirked slightly.

"About those threats she's been getting, you mean?" Steve asked, frowning. "Did she get another one?"

"She's dead," Pierce said, shrugging. "Killed."

"What?" Steve asked, stunned at the ease with which he said it. "When?"

"Sometime earlier this evening," Nat supplied. "Fisk was called away to deal with it, which is why we had you come here for Castle."

Steve shifted, his gaze flicking to Pierce before he spoke. "You can't tell me you're not worried about this," he said carefully, his frown deepening. "I mean - first there's Frank, and now this?"

"Her aunt is a highly esteemed judge," Pierce said flippantly, meeting Steve’s eye without hesitation. "I doubt the two are connected."

Surely he wasn’t hearing right? How could Pierce be so casual about it all? They were in the dirty business, but deaths never played out this frequently before. "Well, just Castle, then. Surely you're aware that's Hydra’s work? Even if you're discounting what happened to Sharon- "

"Steve," Nat cautioned stiffly, but Pierce shrugged.

"It certainly seems as though it could be Rollins, or even Rumlow," Pierce answered slowly, and then arched one brow. "Are you suggesting I sleep with one eye open, Steven?"

"I'm certainly not suggesting you sleep especially soundly," he remarked darkly, pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Or that any of us should, for that matter. If this is turning into some kind of turf war - "

"It's not," Pierce assured him, somewhat dispassionately. "It's merely a foolish attempt at retribution."

"Foolish attempt?" he echoed. "Pierce, Frank’s got your fucking name sliced into his chest," he reminded him. "Personally, I don't think I'd dumb that down to foolishness-- "

Pierce shrugged again, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "I've dealt with this type of aggression before," he said. "In my experience it is unwise, and ultimately fruitless, to exact any sort of… pursuit of vengeance." He paused, smiling his wolfish smile. "Against me, anyway."

"Still," he pressed, and Nat shook her head. "You can't possibly - "

"Steven," Pierce interrupted slowly, pivoting to face him. "You seem to be quite adamant about what I can and cannot do."

He paused, suddenly, hearing the warning bounce around in his head. He registered Pierce’s tone, sharp and straight-forward. 

"I'm worried about  _ us _ ," he insisted stubbornly, despite the presence of his better judgment. "I don't like the idea that one of us is in a fucking operating room getting ripped apart and stitched back together." He paused, glaring at Pierce. "Do you, Pierce?"

Pierce didn't react. "No," he said slowly. "And I'm sure we can both agree, Steven, that neither of us wants to see another Avenger suffer." He arched a brow warningly. "In any case, I'm the president of this group, and it's my responsibility to make sure that we are protected. It is not, despite what you seem to insistently believe," he added pointedly, with a sour twist of disapproval, something flashing in his eyes, "your job to doubt me. In fact, I would imagine that--"

"Mr. Rogers," Steve heard Bucky say, and promptly felt his stomach plummet to the base of his abdomen. "Oh," Bucky remarked, "and Mr. Pierce."

Steve held his breath at that, remembering with a pang why he'd needed to speak to Bucky.

"Ah, Dr. Barnes," Pierce said, instantly painting a pleasant smile on his face as he turned to Bucky. "Didn't I say to call me Alex?" 

When Steve watched as Pierce’s gaze trailed up and down Bucky’s body, something pleased and heated washing across his aged features, Steve felt the air get stolen right from his lungs. 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

It felt like days before Bucky made his way to the waiting room, trying to pace his steps. It was remarkable, he thought, that he could maintain such a steady hand when it came to skin and blood and bone and yet the moment he saw Steve’s face - saw the glow of him that even the fluorescent lights could not diminish-- Bucky felt a hitch in his breath, a moment of weakness in his knees. He watched the subtle coolness of Steve’s eyes, watched the line of his mouth, and then he watched the subtly tightened angle of Steve’s jaw as he listened to Pierce speak.

"Mr. Rogers," he said carefully, forcing himself to smile. A shadow of something tragic slid across Steve’s face as he looked back at Bucky, pained by the sound of Steve’s name on Bucky’s lips. "Oh, and Mr. Pierce," he added, nodding politely to him.

"Ah, Dr. Barnes," Alex said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "Didn't I say to call me Alex?"

"Right, of course-- Alex," he assured the man, focusing on him to avoid staring at Steve. He noticed Steve was fidgeting with his hands, the familiar letters that were tattooed on his fingers becoming stark against his knuckles as he curled them into fists. "Are you here for Mr. Castle as well?"

"How is he?" a third person asked, a woman, who had razor-sharp eyes and a killer body wrapped in leather. She looked dangerous, and undeniably hot, but mostly really fucking dangerous. 

"We repaired most of the damage to his chest," he said, glancing between the woman and Alex. "He's lost a lot of blood, but the good news is that his internal organs weren't affected for the most part. It'll be a difficult recovery, but since we were able to stop the bleeding within a reasonable time period, I think," he ventured hesitantly, careful to avoid constricting promises, "that if he makes it through the night, he'll be okay."

Steve nodded, letting out a sharp sigh of relief. "Good," he said, as though a considerable weight had been lifted. "Thanks, Doc," he murmured, not looking at Bucky as he said it. He felt a flush of warmth run over his shoulders, trickling helplessly down his spine.

"Not a problem," he said, aiming for a reassuring but impartial kindness. "You're welcome to see him in the morning," he added to all three of them, "but for now - "

"We should probably go," the woman said, glancing at Pierce. "One more errand to run."

"True," Pierce said, nodding at him. "Well, Dr. Barnes," he said, smiling sweetly at Bucky, "you've once again come through for someone I consider family. I'm beginning to think the Avengers might owe you a considerable debt."

"Oh, no," he said quickly, feeling something unsettling wash over him at the heated look Pierce was giving him. He’d never been one to flirt much with people, but certainly he wasn’t just imagining things? What he wouldn’t have given to ask Steve if he felt it, too. "I'm just doing my job, Alex. And I really just assisted in the surgery, so - "

"You give yourself too little credit," Alex declared, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing gently. "Doesn't he, Steven?"

Steve bristled slightly at his touch, forcing a smile, but Bucky saw how his eyes zeroed at the spot Pierce was latched onto him. "He certainly does," Steve said quietly, and Bucky felt the blow of Steve’s gaze, forcing himself to breathe normally as Bucky struggled to return the smile.

"Well," Pierce said briskly, promptly breaking the spell as Pierce gave Bucky’s shoulder a gentle pat. "Shall we go, then?"

"I think I'll wait," Steve said quickly, not breaking eye contact with Bucky. "I'll stay the night, I think, in case something happens."

"Fine," the woman agreed quickly, already turning towards the door. "Call us, then, if anything comes up."

"Well, perhaps I'll see you again soon, Dr. Barnes," Alex said, smiling at Bucky as he finally released him. "I find I have a fondness for people who deliver me good news, which you have a tendency to do."

"Luck of the draw," Bucky assured him, careful not to react to Steve’s immediate look of displeasure. "But Dr. Wanda is attending to Mr. Coulson, and once Mr. Castle recovers - "

"No, no, I’ll definitely be seeing you in the future," Pierce said, cutting Bucky off with a sharpness that momentarily took him by surprise before Pierce’s lips promptly twisted upwards, resuming his clever grin. "Until next time. Steven," he added, nodding to him, and then he gestured for the woman before promptly heading for the door.

There was a moment where no one moved, just watching them leave. And then, "Well," Bucky exhaled slowly, watching them go. "That was-- "

"I need to talk to you," Steve said urgently, leaning towards him. "Right now."

Bucky lifted a brow. "We are talking," he said but Steve shook his head.

"Not here," Steve said, glancing around. "Ah, fuck - Sam," he muttered, catching sight of him re-entering the waiting room and promptly taking hold of Bucky’s wrist, pulling the brunet behind him into one of the hospital corridors.

Bucky sighed, too tired to resist. "Wha- "

"What are you doing talking to Pierce?" Steve suddenly demanded, his brow furrowed as he turned to face him. "Do you have any idea how dangerous he is?"

"No," Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why," he added drily, giving Steve a look. "Do you finally want to give me some information other than ' _ trust me, you don't want to know _ '?"

Steve had the decency to cringe slightly. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I know I've been - "

"Confusing? Withholding?" Bucky pursed his lips, glancing dubiously at him. "A bit of an utter  _ fuckstick _ ?"

Steve paused, grimacing. "I know," he decided, opting not to choose a descriptive phrase. "But can we  _ please _ ," he begged, "go somewhere private? Please," he said quietly, and Bucky sighed in resignation, taking Steve’s large hand to pull him into the on-call room at the end of the hall.

"Look," he said, putting his hands on his hips and turning to face Steve as the door locked behind them. "I can't avoid talking to him, okay? He's a patient. I mean, I get that he's clearly in charge of your little - club," he added, making a face at him, "which, by the way, is seeming less and less innocent every time I see you - "

"It's not innocent," Steve told him, cutting Bucky off abruptly. " _ I'm _ not innocent."

"I - " Bucky stopped, caught off guard. For some reason, he had expected Steve to deny it. "What happened to ' _ my secrets are barely skin deep _ '?" he demanded, glaring at the blond.

"Listen," he sighed, "as much as I love it when you quote me - "

" _ Don't _ ," Bucky warned, rolling his eyes.

"I told you I was bad for you," Steve reminded him, taking a step towards him. "I've always said that."

"Fine, so you're bad for me," Bucky sighed, carelessly waving a hand. "Whatever." Steve cut him off, taking hold of Bucky’s cold fingers and shaking his head.

"It's not a joke," he murmured. "You remember how we met, don't you?" he asked Bucky, sliding his fingers through Bucky’s thinner ones. Bucky sighed, feeling a frustrating sense of relief in the cool slip of his palm against Bucky’s.

"If you mean do I remember pulling a bullet out of your shoulder, then yes," Bucky said, feigning irritability. "But I don't see how that - "

"You like adventure," Steve interrupted, and Bucky fought a smirk.  _ Adrenaline junkie _ . "Don't think I've forgotten why this happened. But I am not the kind of adventure you can come back from," he warned the brunet. "I'm a lot more dangerous now than I was when we met, and - and," he added emphatically, "you really do need to stay the fuck away from Pierce."

"Why?" Bucky asked. "Why are you telling me this? And why," he added, retracting his fingers from Steve’s and swatting his hand away, "did you give me a goddamn gun?"

This time, Steve decidedly did not have the decency to look ashamed. "I want you to be safe," he insisted stubbornly, setting his jaw. "I had to do something."

"Then why not just stay with me?" Bucky demanded, before pausing as he realized what she'd said. "I mean," he corrected hastily, "I know it was just sex, but - "

"It wasn't," Steve murmured, shaking his head. "You know it wasn't."

Bucky looked up at him, realizing he had held his breath.

"It was," he forced out definitively, either to punish Steve or himself- or both. "It was just sex, and you've made it clear that it's over now," he added, feeling a pang at the reminder, "so you can't just run around where I work telling me who I can't talk to."

Steve seemed to slightly careen backwards as if he’d been hit. "What?"

Bucky sighed. "I said, you can't just come here telling me who to - "

"Not that," he said, swallowing. Bucky looked away.

"It's over," he repeated, feeling his heart pound in his chest. "Obviously." He forced himself to meet Steve’s eye. "You're the one who said you couldn't stay."

"Right," Steve said, letting out a breath. "Yes," he conceded, briefly closing his eyes. "I know."

Bucky waited a long moment, fidgeting where he stood.

"As far as I know," he began tangentially, "Alex is just a person who has the unfortunate luck of being friends with people who keep ending up in the hospital. So unless you want to tell me what the hell you've gotten yourself into," he said pointedly, "I can't just avoid him."

"Yeah, I realize that," Steve said, somewhat unsteadily. "But I - "

"If I'm in danger, you need to tell me," he said firmly. "I mean, what exactly have you been doing? Are you in trouble?" he pressed, staring up at Steve’s face; Steve’s expression was unreadable, but entirely fixated on Bucky’s mouth. "And what kind of trouble? And if you are, then does that mean - " he cut himself off, shaking his head as he met Steve’s eye. "Stop looking at me like that!" he demanded, glaring at the blond.

A smile pulled at Steve’s lips. "Like what?"

Bucky felt his breath catch, taking a step back. "Like you're already taking my clothes off," he whispered, feeling his cheeks flush.

He waited for Steve to laugh, but he didn't. Steve took a step towards him, the backs of Bucky’s knees colliding with the bed behind him.

"You look tired," Steve commented, tucking back a loose strand and leaning forward, his lips next to Bucky’s ear. "How are you sleeping without me?"

He should tell Steve to fuck off. That the past week had been horrible, that he’d been tossing and turning restlessly throughout the nights-- half terrified for his safety and the other for Steve’s. That he’d eaten takeout for the last few nights and resorted himself to hospital coffee only. He’s been a mess… more than usual. 

And if it had been because of anyone  _ but  _ Steve, he’d be telling them to rightfully fuck off. The problem was that it  _ was  _ Steve, and Bucky knew he would never be able to tell Steve that. He’d never be able to lie either, n matter how badly he wished he could. 

Bucky sighed, feeling the exhaustion start to settle in. "Not well," he admitted, swallowing. "There's a gun in my nightstand." He inhaled sharply, feeling the hairs on Steve’s jaw brush against his cheek. "Makes it hard to sleep knowing someone out there thinks I might have to use it."

"Oh, Doc," he lamented, sliding his thumb along Bucky’s jaw. "I've ruined your life, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have," he replied stiffly, not moving as Steve’s lips brushed against his neck. "Before you I never had to worry about anything except, you know." He swallowed again, his throat suddenly exceedingly dry. "Cutting people open."

"I'm sorry," Steve whispered, his fingers dropping to trace the waistband of Bucky’s scrubs. "And now you have so many problems."

"So many," he agreed, closing his eyes. "I'm addicted to those bagels," he said in Steve’s ear, fighting a moan as Steve pulled at the ties of his scrubs. "I own a gun, and I can't stop eating bagels."

"God, fuck," Steve said in his ear. "I've ruined you completely."

"You have," Bucky said, tugging at Steve’s belt loops. "And the worst part is - " he broke off as Steve brushed his lips against Bucky’s, the barest hint of a kiss. "The worst part," he said into Steve’s mouth, "is that you-- " he stopped again, allowing another kiss; more insistent this time. "You-- "

"I miss you," Steve said, taking Bucky’s face in his large, rough hands and cutting Bucky off. "I miss your face," he whispered, staring at Bucky. "I miss your dick speeches."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Shut u- "

"I miss you," he said again, coaxing Bucky back onto the bed and removing his shoes, pulling the scrubs down after them and then kneeling at Bucky’s feet, nudging his legs over Steve’s thick shoulders. "I miss this scar," he said, kissing the mark on Bucky’s knee from when he'd split it open once; five stitches, however many years ago. "I miss - " Steve paused as Bucky gasped a little at the feel of Steve’s tongue sliding against the cotton of his underwear. "That," he murmured, looking up to give Bucky an arrogant smirk. "I miss that sound you make." He slid his thumb under the material, watching Bucky’s face as he pushed the fabric aside, stroking Bucky’s cock. 

"Steve--," he began;  _ we shouldn't _ , he tried to say, but he was already enraptured, staring at Steve, caught up in the way Steve didn't take his eyes from Bucky’s own.

"I miss the way you taste," Steve murmured, and Bucky lifted his hips, letting Steve pull his briefs down his legs and toss them to the side, Steve’s fingers quick to wrap around Bucky’s cock as he pressed his lips against Bucky’s shaft and downing him. His tongue swirled against the head of Bucky’s cock, sucking, before he made his way downward, leaving a wet trail down to Bucky’s hole. Steve’s right hand wrapped itself around Bucky’s cock as the other started to tease at his hole, all slick from spit and ready for Steve only. Bucky reached down, taking hold of Steve’s hair and arching his back, letting Steve pulse against him. He closed his eyes and Steve slipped another finger in, pushing in and out and making Bucky start to feel his resolve crumble. 

Steve’s mouth was on his dick again and it didn’t take long until Bucky was seeing stars, gasping and reaching down to grab Steve’s forearm, digging his heels in against Steve’s back and absolutely losing it. 

"I miss making you come," Steve rasped and Bucky yanked his mouth against his as he let out a moan, pulling Steve against him. He fumbled with Steve’s jeans, haphazardly pulling them down the curve of his ass and yanking Steve towards him, the matter of seconds it took to feel him inside of Bucky’s body seeming more tortuous than ever. 

_ I miss you _ , he wanted to say out loud, but Bucky told Steve in the pressure of his fingers on Steve’s neck, twisting into Steve’s hair.  _ I miss you every day _ , he thought as Steve twined his fingers in Bucky’s, pushing Bucky’s hands above his head. _ I don't care what you did _ , he thought foolishly,  _ I don't care what you've done _ ; and then, for a moment, a tiny piece of him whispered  _ I don't care what will happen to me _ -

"Bucky," Steve said, his name escaping in little more than a whisper, like Steve was trading it for a breath, and Bucky felt himself shatter in ruin and wreckage as he sank his teeth in Steve’s shoulder, fighting the urge to cry. All too soon, Steve shuddered and fell against him, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s, and for a moment there was a deafening silence as the realization of what they'd done settled around them, dusting them in recklessness while the world raged on outside.

It seemed like years before they moved, before Steve pulled him against him and rested Bucky’s head on his chest, stroking his hair.

"Just tell me something," Bucky whispered. "Anything. Just - something," he begged him, closing his eyes. "Something real."

Steve swallowed, hesitating. "I thought you preferred me as an enigma," he murmured.

Bucky wanted to laugh, he thought, or sob.

Or both.

"One thing," he pleaded again, and Steve pulled him closer, burying his nose in Bucky’s hair.

"This isn't sex," Steve told him, the words muffled. "It's something else," he sighed, running his hand down Bucky’s spine, gathering the tension in the tips of his fingers. "Something a thousand times worse."

"I know," Bucky whispered, but he kissed Steve anyway.

He’d been fucked from that very first stitch.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve

* * *

Steve reached over Bucky to his pants, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. There were two missed texts from Sam; first a " _ where are you _ " and then a " _ leaving to fuck gamora brb _ " that made Steve roll his eyes, tightening his other arm around Bucky.

"I should probably let you go," he murmured to the slim brunet, kissing the side of Bucky’s neck. "Your shift has to be over by now, Doc."

Bucky nodded sleepily. "Yeah, I really should get up," he agreed, stirring, "especially considering the next one is starting any minute." He sat up, letting Steve trace the bones of Bucky’s spine and glancing over his shoulder at Steve. "Should we talk about this?"

Steve grimaced. "It wouldn’t be very productive."

Bucky nodded, reaching for his clothes. "Fine, no talking then," he sighed, slipping the legs of his scrubs over his feet and pausing as Steve curled himself around him, pulling himself up to kiss the back of Bucky’s neck. "Don't," Bucky warned, elbowing him.

"Sorry," he sighed, releasing Bucky and putting his hands up. "Can't help it."

Bucky shook his head. "How are we supposed to leave this?" he asked, pulling on the rest of his clothes and then turning to stare at Steve, his eyes traveling across his chest. "Shake hands and say thanks for the memories?"

He flinched a little at that, but hoped Bucky couldn't see how much it stung. "What if I kiss you goodbye," he offered, "and promise that I would give you all the things you deserved if my life were even a little bit different?"

Bucky’s expression tightened. "What if I walk out the door," he countered, "because it's not?"

He shook his head, feeling shittier than ever before. "Your choice," he told Bucky, shrugging. "I certainly deserve worse."

Bucky glared at him for a moment, his blue-grey eyes searching Steve’s expression.

"You don't," Bucky said stiffly, and then his hands were on either side of Steve’s face and he kissed Steve with a quiet intensity, a stifled desperation, and was out of his arms before Steve could even return the gesture, leaning helplessly towards Bucky as the brunet walked away.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something before he left, reaching out for the door handle; then he closed it, shaking his head. He glanced at Steve briefly, touching his fingers to his lips, and then pulled the door open before disappearing right before Steve’s eyes. 

Alone, he sighed heavily, pulling on the rest of his clothes and following shortly after, though by then Bucky was gone from sight. He walked back to the waiting room, throwing himself down in a chair and waiting for Sam’s return or for news of Frank, drifting off slightly. Every time a new patient popped in or someone was crinkling those fucking candy wrappers from the vending machine, Steve’s eyes would pop open for the briefest of seconds to get a scope of his surroundings before dozing off again. He would be lying if he didn’t admit the only reason he would open his eyes at all was because he was trying to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s presence. For a couple of hours absolutely nothing happened, until he felt his phone go off in his pocket. 

**Murdock:** _ Need to talk. Meet me in an hour? _

Steve rubbed at his eyes as he sent back his reply. He could do an hour. 

The next forty-five minutes was spent sitting in the waiting room with a slowly escalating sense of misery, knowing as he did that Bucky was still in the building but somewhere out of sight, out of reach, and firmly out of the realm of possibility. He sat and fidgeted, gripping the arms of his chair tightly, and had a small collection of panic attacks whenever anyone dressed in a hint of medical garb came his way. 

He tried to remember what it had been like with Sharon, back when she'd been any kind of priority in his life. He had thought of himself as a decent considerate boyfriend for a time but it had never been like this-- like feeling that his world was only remotely sane when she was in it, and yet devolving to an absolute wreck when she wasn’t. It was unfair that he would feel anything whatsoever for a person he knew perfectly well that he was unsuited for; that he knew he couldn't have, not only because of what he did, but because of who he was.

Perhaps that was the appeal, he thought. That he wanted Bucky for the same reason Bucky wanted him-- for the forbiddenness of it, the  _ intrigue _ . He toyed with the thought, curling it around in his thoughts, but was fairly sure it was a lie - one of many that he told himself. He wanted Bucky, yes, and he couldn't have him, but he knew with a sinking blow of certainty that Bucky would always feel like  _ his _ . Because even if he kept Bucky away, Steve would always shiver at the memory of his touch, burn for Bucky, long for him. Wrong or right, Bucky would always feel like his. 

Bucky felt like his, and  _ fuck  _ -

Fuck. Steve was entirely his.

He shoved all of it away from his mind and forced himself to his feet, reminding himself that whatever he was feeling, it was impossible. The best thing he could do for Bucky was to let him live his life. 

_ Without you _ , he told himself sharply, picking up his helmet and throwing one leg over his bike. Let Bucky have the life he was supposed to have, the one with picket fences and babies and private schools, and let Steve take his bullet wounds and his drug lord problems elsewhere. If he suffered for it, so be it. Better him than Bucky.

The sun was shining tauntingly at him through the scattered trees that lined the prominent boulevard and he took the few streets to the cafe Murdock told him to meet him at. This part of the city was the bustling side, where people actually had morals and shit and had value in their work. So when he reached the cafe, most of the people had already headed to work except for a few stragglers, reaching tiredly for their coffees and mumbling their orders as they shifted unsteadily from foot to foot.

"Murdock," Steve said, spotting him at the back of the diner and slipping into the seat across from him. "What is it?"

Murdock took a sip of his coffee, arching a brow. "Good morning to you too, Rogers," he commented evenly. "You look well."

"I'm sure I do," he said flatly, leaning back in the chair. "How can I help you?"

"I actually need a favor from you," Murdock replied, drumming his fingers on the table. "I'm wondering if you can help me with something I wouldn't necessarily call...", he paused, considering his word choice - "legal."

Steve paused for a moment, letting the surprise of the statement sink in. He hadn't expected to hear from Murdock at all so soon after their tension the night before, and he'd expected even less for the other man to ask a favor.

"Well," he said slowly, "I suppose questionable legality is technically my specialty."

Murdock glanced up, smirking. "Along with motorcycle repair."

"Right," Steve confirmed, rolling his eyes. "So what is it you need, Officer?" he asked pointedly, leaning towards the man. "Is this a private matter?"

"No, actually," Murdock said, adjusting his glasses and fidgeting with his mug. "I, um," he paused, glancing around. "I assume you've heard about Judge Danvers?"

"I've heard she was killed," he confirmed evasively. "Why," he added, half-laughing. "Did you do it?"

Murdock gave him a look of utter loathing. "No," he said. "But I need you to look into it for me. As a personal favor," he added, to which Steve frowned.

"A personal favor?" he asked, confused. "You knew her?"

"No," Murdock said. "But Fisk sent me an email early this morning that I found interesting." He dug his phone out of his pocket, holding it out for Steve. "Take a look."

Steve looked down, scanning the screen quickly.

_ Murdock, _

_ I'd like as much as possible for us to keep Judge Danvers’ case list out of the investigation. If you have any interest in pursuing it, please see me directly, but I have reason to believe her death was the result of a personal vendetta and would prefer we not waste our time. We can discuss it in the morning if you have any further curiosities. _

_ Wilson Fisk _

"Curiosities," Steve scoffed, handing the phone back to Murdock with an undisguised look of annoyance. "A bit patronizing."

"A bit," Murdock agreed, making a similar face. "But you see why I find this suspicious, right?"

Steve nodded. "He's blocking Danvers’ case list," he murmured quietly. "That can only mean he already knows who's on it."

"Right," Murdock said, nodding. "I have to assume he's protecting someone on it. Which could be Pierce," he added pointedly, and Steve shrugged, "or someone else entirely. But if I use the PD resources to look into it, he'll put me on a tighter leash - which I really can't afford right now." Murdock shook his head, suddenly looking exhausted. "The whole Sharon Carter situation is upsettingly opaque," he muttered, "and I don't need Fisk having any reason to watch me any closer than he does."

"Hm," Steve agreed, murmuring in thought. "So you want me to get her case list for you? It should be public," he added, frowning, but Murdock shook his head.

"Should be, but isn't," he said. "Sort of a backwards court system. Records aren't great."

"I know, which has always been ideal," he remarked, and then caught himself. "For me, I mean," he conceded, smirking.

Murdock shrugged. "Sure. But ever since there were some, uh, issues between prosecutors and other interested parties," he commented, prompting Steve to bristle slightly at the reminder of what had happened between the gang and Nelson’s dad, "there's a bit more secrecy about high profile criminal cases."

"Right," Steve said, not wanting to get into it. He nodded, as reassuring as he could manage. "I'll get the list for you."

"Thanks," Murdock said coolly, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'd consider it a favor."

"Well, I do owe you one," he admitted somewhat unhappily, rolling a kink out of his neck. "How's Elektra, by the way?" he asked, and then watched with amusement as Murdock promptly choked on a swallow of coffee, spilling it and coughing.  _ Interesting _ . "That good, huh?"

"She's - she's fine," Murdock said, clearing his throat and wiping momentarily at the moisture in his eyes. "Having some trouble - or, I guess, had some trouble - "

"Which is to be expected under the circumstances," Steve said placidly, arching a brow. "And are you … helping her?" he asked, feeling unexpectedly entertained by Murdock’s obvious discomfort.

"Well, I, um," Murdock managed. "I lost my parents, so I have some familiarity with the grief process."

"Right, the grief process," Steve repeated neutrally. "Of course. It can be such a draining activity, grief."

"Yes," Murdock agreed, not meeting Steve’s eye.

"No wonder you look so tired," Steve added, fighting a laugh, and Murdock glared at him.

"Look, it's not what you think. And you don't have to be such a - "

"I know I don't," Steve interrupted, offering the deputy a knowing smirk. "I just am, unfortunately."

"You certainly are," Murdock muttered, taking a considerably more careful sip. "As far as I know, Elektra is still going to insist on going back to Hell’s Kitchen."

"Well, don't let her," Steve replied stiffly. "Employ whatever you have at your disposal to ensure that she doesn’t, Murdock - at least until we figure out who's behind this." He paused for a moment, squinting slightly at the other man. "You want me to do this for you because you think Fisk is hiding something from you," he realized aloud, processing the change in Murdock’s motivations. "Does that mean you think he might be responsible or do you still think he’s innocent?”

"I never said he was innocent," Murdock said, but at Steve’s arched brow, he sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "I didn't want to suspect him, but nothing's off the table at this point. It could have been any number of people," he added. "Pierce, Hydra, Fisk, not to mention some other enemy Sharon Carter might have had - or that you have, for that matter - "

"Fuck," Steve said, rubbing his eyes. "This shit is beyond fucked."

Murdock nodded, not saying anything. For a moment they sat in silence, not looking at each other, until Murdock finally cleared his throat, treading carefully.

"I want to trust you, Rogers," he said, with a deliberate caution. "And I want you to trust me."

Steve recognized the moment for what it was, and managed to refrain from making any sort of mockery of it. There was no denying that Murdock was right. As much as Steve didn’t want to admit, they did need to trust each other. Hell, they needed each other-- something Steve never thought he would associate with a fucking cop. 

"I do trust you," Steve replied eventually, his words ringing true. "And I don’t plan to give you any reason not to trust me," he added slowly.

Murdock shook his head, grimacing. "Well, that's not quite good enough, is it?"

"Nothing I have to offer ever is," Steve muttered, thinking again of Bucky and forcibly shaking the image from his head. "But if you can trust that my intentions are genuine without me having to explain exactly where I was last Friday, we might be able to work something out."

Murdock leaned back, sighing. "I don't suppose I have much of a choice in the matter," he commented. "But I hope you can tell me that whatever you're up to isn't going to come back to bite me, Rogers."

"I'm certainly hoping it doesn't," Steve said flatly, and Murdock sighed.

"Fine," he conceded. "Questionable legality it is, then."

"Anarchy suits you, you know," Steve offered, grinning at him. "Something to consider."

Murdock scoffed. "What? Chaos as something to live by?"

"No," Steve said slowly. "But the heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself."

Murdock paused, glancing curiously at him. "Who said that?"

"Me," Steve answered. "Also, Plato."

Murdock opened his mouth to say something but suddenly held up a hand, catching something from the radio at his shoulder. "Hold on," he muttered apologetically, turning it up to listen. "I'm not on duty yet, but - "

"Available officer requested at the hospital," the voice said. "10-33, unknown explosion, three injured, one unresponsive, any available officer requested to respond - "

"The hospital?" Steve repeated, feeling his heart pound. Time seemed to warp slightly, speeding up and slowing down, becoming foggy the moment he'd once again imagined Bucky’s face.

Murdock held up a hand for pause, turning to speak rapidly into his transmitter; by the look on his face, it had been something serious, and Steve tried to shake the fearful ringing in his ears - the rush of blood that drowned out everything but a few clips and phrases - to make sense of Murdock saying to him "that's Foggy responding," and then "there's a body," followed by "have to go - "

Murdock stood quickly, downing the rest of his coffee and gesturing for Steve to follow before seeming to remember that Steve was not also a police officer. "Sorry, I'll call you if I - hold on," he said, noticing his phone was ringing and glancing down at it. "I - it's Foggy- " his face contorted slightly in panic. "That can't be good."

Murdock picked up the phone, barely managing a "hello" before his face went pale.

"Fuck," he said, glancing nervously at Steve after about a minute of rapid speech from the other end. "Shit. Yeah, fine, I'll - I'll get someone, I'm with - " he glanced down at Steve and shut his mouth, seeming to think better of it. "I'll be right there. If they let you see him, tell him I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up as Steve’s mind wandered blankly to at least a dozen horrific possibilities, snapping his fingers for Steve’s attention. “We have to go, right fucking now.” 

* * *

Bucky

* * *

Leaving Steve never got any easier; not even when he himself was the one who did the leaving, which was less common, but devastating all the same. Bucky managed about another half hour of sleep after showering, eventually pulling on a clean set of scrubs and starting the morning for rounds.

"Well, Mr. Coulson," Wanda said, giving the man’s shoulder an awkward squeeze that both of them seemed to immediately regret as Bucky stifled a yawn, "looks like you can actually go home today. Your vitals have been stable, and I have high hopes that if you continue to not smoke," she insisted emphatically, "and make literally any sort of effort to take care of yourself, you should be fine."

"I'm going to smoke," Coulson informed Wanda gruffly. "If I'm going to die, it's going to be without you people screeching at me like I'm some kind of goddamn toddler."

Beside Bucky, Baron fought a laugh, hiding the motion with a cough into the crook of his arm.

"Wonderful," Wanda declared briskly, looking as though she wished to strangle him. "Well, we can have you discharged in no time, if you'd like us to call your emergency contact - "

"Do not call anyone," Coulson warned, scowling. "I'll call someone."

"Magnificent," Wanda said through clenched teeth. "I'll just have someone take care of the paperwork for you and then you can call whomever you'd like, which," she added under her breath as she turned, wide-eyed, to Bucky, "may very well be the devil himself, for all I care."

Bucky stifled his laughter with a barely suppressed yawn.

"God, he's a menace," Wanda growled to him the moment they entered the corridor. "Thank god he's finally leaving."

"Oh, but he seemed so fond of you," Bucky teased, as Baron hustled through the group of interns to catch up with them.

"That was fantastic," he told Wanda. "I honestly thought you were going to make him eat his own oxygen tube."

"I wish I'd thought of that," Wanda grumbled. "Honestly, one more day with him and I'd have made  _ myself  _ eat his oxygen tube just to rob him of any sort of life source."

"That," Bucky remarked, "is otherwise known as murder."

"Well, if murder is on the table, then I should be clear that it'd be much more satisfying with a knife," Wanda muttered. "Or a scalpel."

"You really need a psych eval," Baron commented, shaking his head. "And how are you?" he asked, reaching out to grip Bucky’s shoulder. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little," Bucky said, fighting the impulse to rub at his eyes. "I'm not supposed to be operating today, so as long as I can handle sorting through a few charts, I might manage to avoid disaster for at least a few hours."

"That's the spirit," Baron agreed, smirking. 

The next couple of hours went somewhat unremarkably. Mr. Lee, who was once again droning on about super-serum soldiers, was insistent that Bucky was the reincarnation of a soldier who had fallen off a train and was the soulmate of the so-called Captain, but other than that, Bucky passed through the morning in relative silence, finally pausing in the cafeteria to grab a poor excuse for a coffee once he was sure he wouldn't make it another second without one.

"Don't tell me you're still here," he heard behind him, and jumped nearly a foot in the air, upending the styrofoam cup just enough that the liquid sloshed onto his wrist. It burned, but not as much as the sudden touch against the small of his back. 

"Ouch," he hissed, biting his lip in pain as Alex Pierce handed him a couple of napkins.

"Sorry about that," he said, offering Bucky a truly devastating smile. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," he murmured, dabbing at the spot on his wrist that had already turned red. "I guess my reflexes aren’t as sharp as they should be at the moment."

"I hope you've gotten some rest since last night," Pierce commented, raising his own cup of coffee to his lips. "I've heard Frank is stable, which I suppose I owe to you."

Bucky shook his head, practically feeling his eyes roll around in his skull from exhaustion. "I told you," he murmured, raising his coffee to his lips and taking a blessed sip. He had to avert his gaze when Pierce’s eyes turned a little  _ too  _ much for him to handle as he looked at Bucky’s lips. "I just assisted, that's all."

"Well, I had nothing to do with it, so I'm obligated to give someone the credit," Alex assured him, smiling. His hand had yet to move and all Bucky could concentrate on was the sound of Steve’s voice telling him to stay the fuck away from this man. But what was Bucky supposed to do? It wasn’t like he could just run away covering his ears. Talking to Pierce was his job.

Bucky took a deep breath, settling himself. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked. 

"Taking Coulson home," Alex explained, and Bucky nodded his understanding. "A stable Frank and a mobile Phillip," Alex remarked, somewhat warmly. "A lucky day for the Avengers, I'd say."

"Has he been discharged already?" Bucky asked, looking around for Coulson.

"He's upstairs," Alex explained. "Just gathering the last of his things with Natasha. Requested some things," he added, holding up the bottle of water in his hand, "and then we'll be on our way."

"Okay," Bucky said, turning to head towards the stairs. "Well, best of luck to you - "

The hand on Bucky’s back slid to the side, managing to grab his hip, halting him. "I'll walk with you," Alex said, giving him another smile but somehow managing to feel unnerving. "If you don't mind."

Bucky shrugged and the motion made Alex’s hand fall. "By all means," he said, aiming himself up the stairs. "I have to get back to work, of course, but - "

"Do you know Steve?" Alex interrupted, and for once, Bucky was grateful his reflexes were so slow. The name slid comfortably into Bucky’s brain and sent a tingle of warmth down his spine, but little else. "You're about the same age, are you not?"

"I don't know him, no," Bucky said, shaking his head and hoping his exhaustion was enough to cover the lie. "I met him yesterday when he came in for Mr. Castle. As for his age," he shrugged, "I suppose it's possible."

"Ah, I see," Alex remarked carefully, and then eyed him for a moment. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Bucky confirmed, as they reached the top of the stairs. He caught sight of the woman-- Natasha-- and Coulson as both turned around, catching the sound of Alex’s voice. Bucky took a moment to acknowledge them both with a nod before turning to say goodbye to Alex. "Anyway, I'm sure you're all in a hurry to leave - "

"Fucking right I am," Coulson muttered. He jerked his head outside. "Got my bike?"

"No," Alex said, laughing. "Natasha will drive you," he explained, nodding at the redhead.

"Fuck that," Coulson said. "I’m gonna ride, Alex," he added, scoffing. He jutted his chin out pointedly at Alex. "You rode?" he asked, and Pierce nodded. "Lend me yours, then."

Alex’s face immediately contorted in a grimace, an expression that was mirrored by Nat. "Phillip," he warned slowly, "surely you can wait."

"This is my first time outside in months, Alexander," Coulson said flatly, glancing between him and Natasha. "I'm fucking getting on a bike, pal."

Bucky, sensing tension, cleared his throat. "It might be wiser--" he began, but Coulson cut him off with a shake of his head.

"I'm not going to fuck it up, Alex," Coulson muttered, glaring at him. "I've been riding longer than you have, Pierce. Got you your first bike, remember?"

Alex’s grimace deepened, though he made the effort to bend it into a smile.

"Fine," he said tightly. "Just back to the shop." He glanced at Bucky. "Dr. Barnes, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Wouldn't mind what?" he asked blankly, before realizing Alex was staring expectantly at him. "Oh," he said. "Um, you want me to confirm he's okay to ride?"

"I'd appreciate it," Alex said slowly. "A favor to me."

"I'm - "  _ a fucking surgeon _ ,  _ not a goddamn babysitter _ , Bucky wanted to say, but waved a hand, taking a long gulp of coffee and aiming himself at the exit. "Fine," he sighed, gesturing for them to lead. "I'll send you on your way, then."

Coulson was the first to stride forward, a scowling redhead behind him, followed by a Alex who had both fists clenched.

"A difficult thing, this pact we have," Alex murmured to Bucky, glancing at him and walking right beside him, their steps syncronizing. "It can be difficult to balance at times, but I find that when I want, I can manage free time.” 

"Free time?" Bucky asked, shielding his eyes from the sun outside. "I haven’t heard those words in a long time,” he said, smiling at his own joke. 

Alex laughed, and the noise alone, along with the smile on his face, had Bucky suspecting it was genuine. "I’m sure you’re very busy. With such an esteemed career in your future. But tell me, what do you do away from here? Friends? Lover, perhaps?” 

He swallowed heavily as the look in Alex’s eyes settled on him. “Um, no, not at the moment. Life’s a bit… hectic at the moment.” 

Alex hummed. “I’m sure it has been,” he muttered low beneath his breath. But then his smile shifted, something more dangerous peaking through. “But who knows? Maybe your fate is being rewritten as we speak. You’d be surprised what can be--” he gestured to himself, “-- right in front of you.” 

The breath in Bucky’s lungs caught, his fingers tightening around his coffee. The insinuation was there, obviously and painfully so, but he felt like a fish out of water. His mouth opened but the longer Alex stared at him, the more he found he was choking on his own goddamn saliva. “I-- I’m really not--” 

To his utter fucking relief, Coulson was plopping himself down on a motorcycle and settled himself on top of it. Alex, Bucky noted, openly flinched as Coulson’s fingers hugged the handles. Alex turned toward the redhead and instructed her to get the car and when he turned back to Coulson, he grabbed at Bucky’s forearm and pulled them a distance away from the bike, like they were about to have a private conversation. Bucky was already preparing for the worst. 

Except, Alex was still looking at Coulson. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” he asked. 

"Hell yes," Coulson answered, his eyes greedily taking in the chrome. "I've been waiting, Alex." He glanced up, looking oddly pained. "Let me have this."

Alex hesitated, glancing at Bucky. "How about it, Dr. Barnes?" he asked expectantly, and Bucky sighed.

"It's not ideal," he began to say, but Coulson had already started the ignition, and he never got the chance to finish the sentence.

The first thing he processed was a spark, then an explosion, and then a shrill ringing in his ears; pain first, sharp and stabbing and then seeping to a throb, followed by the sudden realization of what had been the impact of his back against the pavement. He processed screams, shouts, footsteps--  _ call the police, get everyone evacuated, check for a pulse, he’s still breathing, thank Christ he's breathing - _

" _ Bucky _ ?" he eventually heard from somewhere above him, and then he closed his eyes, wondering, absurdly, if he'd spilled his coffee, and whether it might have made a mess.

_ Get Steve, _ he wanted to say, wanted to beg, wanted to laugh - but he watched the world go dark instead, his cheek falling to rest against the pavement.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this story back on a roll!

Sam

* * *

Sam walked into the office at Ego’s warehouse in time to catch the telling click of the safety from Gamora’s pistol. She was casually draped across her desk chair, her chin propped against the narrow angles of her knuckles as she cocked her head to look at him, languidly expectant.

"Oh, hey," he offered coolly, putting his hands in the air and rotating slowly, fighting a grin at the sight of the black platform boots peeking out from beneath the wood. "I thought we already agreed killing me would be too messy."

She tossed him a smirk as he turned back to face her, promptly tucking the gun back in her top drawer and pushing her chair out to close the few steps between them. "Can never be too careful," she remarked upon reaching him, gesturing to the door. "No telling who could have been walking in."

"Ah, yes," he agreed, his hands finding her hips as hers found his chest. "Especially not people you specifically told to meet you here. Right?"

She shrugged. "Well, you're late," she informed him, tossing her hair over her shoulder but allowing him to pull her closer, nipping at his fingers as he drew his thumb across her lip. "Took you seven minutes."

"Well," he said, grinning, "in fairness to me, I try not to come early."

She rolled her eyes. "Smooth."

“I try my best,” he grinned, before nudging her backwards until she was perched on top of her desk, her fingers digging into his ribs. 

He got as far as trying to slide his hand up the back of her shirt when she suddenly gasped. “You almost made me forget.” 

He raised his brow curiously at her but before he could ask any questions, she was shoving paperwork into his hand. He stared at her blankly for a whole two seconds until she was rolling her eyes and telling him to look at it. 

He had never been the paperwork kind of guy but still, he casually glanced over it. Gamora definitely had incredibly near handwork, with a signature to match. It seemed complicated but for someone like Gamora, who worked for someone like Ego he figured that was supposed to be the point. 

The paperwork was in-depth and a fuck-ton of it at that, but he followed her finger as she pointed to a series of transactions that he actually recognized. His gaze flicked to what he guessed was the dollar amount for the payment of the deal and stopped, inhaling sharply. 

“An ungodly amount, right?” Gamora asked. 

He cleared his throat, his ears ringing slightly as he tore his eyes from the records. “This,” he said, taking a deep breath. “This is what Ego paid Pierce for that first deal?”

Gamora nodded. “I thought he was overpaying,” she admitted with a shrug. “But the pieces sold for more than that.”

“This isn’t the right number,” he told her, shaking his head, and at Gamora’s carefully arched brow, he hastily corrected himself. “I mean, this isn’t the number that Pierce gave us. It was a few thousand less than this. If this is right--” she cleared her throat pointedly “-- then we have a problem. I have to call--” 

“Stay the fuck here, Murdock,” Steve’s voice snapped from outside the door. The man certainly had hell of a timing. 

“You said Wilson was with his girlfriend,” Murdock sniped back. “I’m not just going to sit in the car, Rogers, I’m not your pet--” 

“No, you’re not, or I’d have told you to fucking sit,” Steve snapped again, striding through the doorway and trying to shut the door behind him as Sam straightened up. He couldn’t even start to think of why the hell Steve would bring a fucking cop here. From the glare Gamora sent in their direction, she too wasn’t so thrilled. 

“Steve,” Gamora said, nodding unhappily to him. “You brought a cop. Fucking wonderful.” 

“We just need Wilson,” Murdock explained quickly. “We gotta go now though.” 

He was a split second away from telling Murdock to fuck off, because no cop was ever gonna boss him around, but one look at Steve had him shutting up. Steve’s face alone had an expression on it that had Sam’s stomach dropping into his stomach. With Murdock here, it made everything feel so much worse. 

“It’s bad, Sam,” Steve muttered, swallowing. “We really do gotta go.” 

“What is it?” he asked. He saw Murdock open his mouth but Sam shook his head, holding a hand up without looking at him. “Steve,” he said firmly, not moving his gaze. “What is it?” 

“It’s Coulson,” Steve said, and Sam felt his chest tighten. “I don’t know the details, but--” Steve glanced at Murdock, who nodded slowly as if giving his approval. “There was an explosion at the hospital. A bomb. Coulson’s gone. He’s fucking dead, man.” 

Sam felt numb as he registered Gamora’s hand closing around his shoulder. “Coulson?” he echoed after a moment of silence. The man had pretty much been all of their father figures growing up when their real dads fucked off to god-knows-where. “He’s dead? You’re sure?” 

Murdock cleared his throat, grimacing. “Yes.” 

“He’s dead,” he repeated, and the pressure of Gamora’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. “But I just--” he broke off, looking at Steve. “I just fucking spoke to him, and I--” He trailed off, and Steve looked pained just as much as Sam felt. 

“I’m sorry,” Murdock said, shaking his head. “And, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I need you to come to the hospital now. I need to get there as soon as possible,” he explained, and Sam barely caught the motion of Steve glancing sharply at the sheriff, frowning. “A friend of mine was injured by the blast,” Murdock continued, and something helpless was on his face now. “A doctor who works there, and I’m just a bit worried--”

Sam’s head spun. He barely processed the words from Murdock’s mouth until he heard something sharp in Steve’s voice, something that sliced bitterly through the air between them all. 

" _ What _ ?" Steve demanded, and in less than a blink of an eye, he was heading for the door.

* * *

Steve

* * *

Steve had never been so furious.

"Slow down," Murdock called after him, confusion evident in his voice. "Why are you-- "

But there was no slowing down - not now. He threw a leg over his bike and wrestled with his helmet, barely processing the motions as Sam silently followed him to do the same, Murdock climbing into his cruiser and starting the engine as they headed for the hospital.

It had to have been Bucky. Steve kicked himself for not making the connection from Murdock’s phone call - his assurance to Nelson that he would be there, the words ‘ _ if they let you see him _ ’, the way Murdock was so uncharacteristically on edge.

It had to have been Bucky.

He thought his biggest problem would be the grief at Coulson’s passing, but  _ god  _ had the scales tipped. His immediate and only concern was the pain Bucky might be feeling. He didn’t know the circumstances but he was certain-- with an unexplainable determination in his gut-- they were horrific. 

But upon arrival, everything was so much worse. 

"Steve," Natasha said, grabbing his arm and pulling him aside as Sam kept walking, seeking news about Coulson. "Who called you?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked vacantly, his mind buzzing as his gaze frantically darted around the hospital. He caught sight of Baron from a distance and considered for a moment whether he might be able to ask him about what was happening without appearing suspicious when Natasha’s grip suddenly tightened, distracting him. "What the fuck?" he demanded, glaring at her. "Is this about Coulson?"

"Pierce has been hit," Natasha said through gritted teeth. "Had to have been Hydra," she muttered under her breath, glancing around. Steve followed her gaze, catching sight of where Fisk was standing with the other officers, white-faced and sweating.

"What? Pierce?"

"There was an ignition bomb planted on Pierce’s bike," she explained, still staring after Fisk. "Killed Coulson instantly. Pierce is getting stitched up.”

"Was there anyone else?" he asked, suddenly dizzied. For some reason, the concept of Alexander Pierce bleeding had always seemed well outside the realm of possibility.

"Some small injuries," she said, frowning. "A doctor got hit. The one from last night," she clarified, as though she'd just remembered. "Castle’s surgeon."

He fought to contain the immediate blow to his chest. It felt like the air had been stripped right outta him. "Dr. Barnes," he said, half a whisper, and Natasha nodded.

"Sure," she confirmed, shrugging. "He’s fine too, I guess. Passed out for a bit," she added, somewhat distastefully, as though she disapproved of Bucky’s apparent dramatics. "Got everyone all worked up, but - "

"I have to go," he interrupted briskly, unable to stomach Natasha’s nonchalance. "I have to find Sam."

"Someone’s going to have to do the paperwork," she added, with a careless glare of agitation. "It's worth remembering, Steve, that to the living, death is absolute fucking bullshit. Nothing but logistics and paperwork left behind the moment your soul is gone."

"Poetic," he commented with a grimace, and moved to step away but to his unmeasurable displeasure, however, his escape was cut off by the arrival of Fisk at his side.

"Romanoff, I've got nothing to explain this," the police chief hissed quietly, attempting what Steve considered to be a weak effort at being subtlety. "People are going to talk - "

"That's not my fucking concern," she snarled back. "Keep up appearances however you like, Fisk," she added, lifting her chin. "We'll take care of our end."

"I can't keep hiding your activities if this keeps happening," the older man insisted, and Steve got the impression that this was a conversation they had had before. "People are going to think crime's gotten into these streets from Hell’s Kitchen, and they're going to blame me - "

Natasha’s glare hardened and just as she got ready to make her remarks, Steve promptly took the opportunity to take a step back, carefully disappearing and then weaving through the lobby to find Bucky, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure Natasha’s attention hadn’t followed after him.

"I can't believe this happened to him," he heard a female doctor say, catching sight of her from down the hall and squinting, faintly recognizing her as she spoke to someone out of sight. "What was he even doing outside? And what was he doing with  _ them _ ?"

He paused, frowning. He hadn't yet considered what Bucky might have been doing with Pierce.

"No idea," came the reply, a voice Steve identified as belonging to Nelson. "He's awake now, though, I think. Matt’s upstairs talking to him."

"God, I feel sick," the doctor said, her hand at her chest. "I always joke about murdering him just to do his surgeries, but fuck - "

Steve shuddered, turning to head for the hospital rooms upstairs. He glanced around for Sam but didn’t spot him; he felt a brief pang of guilt for Sam’s absence, but temporarily shook himself of the feeling.

_ Five minutes _ , he told himself. He could spare five minutes to check on Bucky, and then he would find Sam.

He raced up the stairs, pausing as he heard Murdock’s voice and footsteps. He waited, listening to pieces of " _ I'll be back, _ " and " _ glad you're okay _ " and then, finally, Murdock’s departure in the opposite direction. Steve slipped into the corridor, glancing through the small glass panes on the doors before finding Bucky’s room.

He watched Bucky for a moment before opening the door, realizing with an unpleasant sharpness that it was difficult to breathe. Bucky looked especially tiny in the hospital bed, his hair messy around his face and his perfect cheek brandishing a gash that Steve could see with alarming clarity, even from a distance. And the  _ bruising _ , dear fuck. High on Bucky’s cheek and along his temple there was a dark area of purple and green, something that made Steve wince just looking at. He let his gaze travel to the cuts and other bruises on Bucky’s arms and he wished so badly that he had sustained each blow himself, begging that he would have felt them instead of Bucky. 

His body could have handled them. Bucky’s hadn’t deserved any of it. 

"Hey, Doc," he murmured, trying to force a smile for Bucky’s benefit as he opened the door, but felt his heart sink to his stomach, physically sickened by the thought of Bucky in the hospital room. "Did you forget what you promised me?"

Bucky turned to look at him, flashing him a dazzling smile that was part exhaustion, part hazed delirium. "Steve..." Bucky whispered, lifting a hand to reach for him.

"You  _ promised _ ," he reminded the brunet, settling himself gently at Bucky’s side. He took in the marks on Bucky’s face and stifled a brief moment of rage at the unknown source, brushing his thumb across Bucky’s cheek. "You told me you'd be safe."

Bucky’s smile didn't fade. "I  _ am  _ safe," he told him. "Just some scratches."

"Some scratches and some brief unconsciousness, huh?" he murmured, letting Bucky take his hand to entangle their fingers. "That's not exactly what I meant by safe, Doc."

Bucky laughed, somewhat vacantly.

"I miss you," Bucky said offhandedly, tilting his head to look at Steve. "I miss … "

Bucky trailed off; Steve pressed his lips to the brunet’s slim fingers, waiting. "Yes?"

Bucky pulled him closer, turning his head to whisper in Steve’s ear. "I miss the way your cock feels inside me,” he breathed out, and then giggled, biting into his lip. 

He sat back, fighting a grin. "A dick speech?" he asked wryly, and Bucky laughed again. It made Steve feel a bit better to know that Bucky’s spirits were high enough that he could laugh off whatever pain he may have felt, but Steve also knew the telltale signs of heavy medication and this was clearly a prime example. He gave Bucky’s fingers a kiss again, grinning. "Did they give you some drugs, Doc?"

"Just some casual opioids," Bucky replied, smiling so beautifully. "You know," he added, shrugging. "Because I got myself blown up."

"Yeah, you did," he agreed, sighing. "I'm not so thrilled about it."

Bucky squinted at him, pursing his lips slightly, as though he wished to add something.

Steve raised a brow. "Yes?" 

"Did you rob a bank?" he asked flatly.

Steve laughed. There was no use trying to figure out what thoughts went through Bucky’s brain. "No, I didn't."

"Hm," Bucky hummed, so soft and innocent. "Did you sell drugs?"

"No," he answered, feeling his brow furrow. "Do you think I did?"

Bucky shook his head. "No," he admitted, and then paused. "Did you murder someone?"

He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear, unable to look away from the bruising on his pale face, the cut on Bucky’s lip; the evidence of injury that someone, somewhere, had made the unforgivable error of causing. "Not yet," he said quietly, and Bucky, catching what must have been a murderous look of fury in Steve’s gaze, smiled. "Why?" he asked the brunet, brushing his thumb across a spot on Bucky’s jaw that was tinted with a purple hue. 

"I'm just wondering," Bucky sighed, "what terrible things you've done." He held onto Steve’s hand, tucking his cheek against it. "What did you do, Steve Rogers?" he whispered. "What's so bad that you can't just be with me?"

He watched Bucky close his eyes and lean into his touch. Steve felt his heart shatter, knowing he couldn't give Bucky an answer.

"This is my fault," he told Bucky instead, breathing in ragged breath. "In some way or another, this was my fault."

Bucky shook his head. "No," he said. "You can't take credit for everything," he added, opening his eyes again and pulling Steve’s hand in front of his face, tracing the dark ink across Steve’s knuckles. 

He bit back the things he wanted so badly to say -  _ I'm sorry, I should never have dragged you into this, you should never have been involved _ \- and even though he so desperately wanted to hold Bucky, he was too scared he’d hurt his fragile body even more than it already was. 

“Besides,” Bucky slurred, “there’s nothing beautiful without struggle.” 

Steve felt his heart stop, felt time crash around him, felt the earth cave beneath his feet, felt himself dissolve completely until nothing remained but the impossible sweetness of Bucky’s fingers laced between his. “Plato,” he remarked, and watched as Bucky smiled again.

"Your philosophy bro," Bucky told him, and then, in the oddness of the moment, Steve laughed, a full belly laugh that shocked him that it came so easily. Even with Bucky in a hospital bed, it was still in reach--

_ Happiness _ .

God, it was all so fucked.

"Maybe I should let you rest," he said, already aching at the thought of being away from the brunet. "Is there anything you need?"

"I need you to stop leaving me," Bucky replied quickly, as though Bucky could read his mind. He set Steve’s hand down to let it rest against Bucky’s chest, his pulse beating steadily against it. "It's exhausting to keep saying goodbye to you, Steve Rogers."

The statement practically cleaved his soul into two. 

"It really is," he agreed, barely finding his voice. "But maybe when you're not on drugs you'll understand why I have to."

"Doubtful," Bucky scoffed. "I'm a genius, you know," he added, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "And it still doesn't make sense to me."

He grimaced. "That's because," he sighed, "among other things, I'm a liar."

"Well, you can't have a perfect cock and morals," Bucky told him very seriously. "That would just be totally unfair."

"I technically have morals," he assured Bucky. "I just rarely use them."

"Why start now?" Bucky asked. "I'm in bed," he added, gesturing to himself. "You could fuck me here." Bucky paused, considering it. "And then," he suggested brightly, "we could share a pudding cup."

This guy… this beautiful, perfect man. 

"That's very generous, Doc," he said. "Extremely tempting."

Bucky grinned. "Kiss me," he suggested, tilting his head at Steve. "Please?"

Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking the small pane of glass at the door. There was no one, but there was no guarantee that it would stay that way. "I shouldn't," he said, more to himself than to Bucky, and Bucky gave him a pout.

"I'm hurt," he reminded Steve. "A kiss would make it better."

"Is that a medical diagnosis?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. "Yes," he declared firmly. "I'm a doctor. I'm a fucking  _ bomb-ass _ doctor," he added, tapping Steve’s nose with his finger, "and I know my shit."

"I know you do," Steve said, sighing. "You probably saved my life, remember?"

"Well, I think you should probably kiss me then, Steve Rogers," Bucky informed him. "Otherwise you'll be swimming in debt to me."

"I already am," he murmured. "Drowning in it."

Bucky paused for a moment, eyeing Steve’s mouth with an incredible amount of longing. "If you don't want to..." he began softly, the smile falling from his lips.

_ Fuck it _ , Steve thought, shaking his head. There was no way he was going to let Bucky think that was true. He leaned forward, drawing Bucky’s chin up slowly, and brushed his lips against Bucky’s as gently as he could, trying his best to assure the brunet that hell would freeze over before he'd ever not want him, but to do it without causing Bucky any pain.

Any more pain.

Bucky pulled him closer, his fingers fisting in the back of Steve’s shirt and drawing him against himself. Steve shifted on the bed, his hands dropping to Bucky’s waist and holding on, a sudden fear coursing through him as he considered that he'd come wretchedly close to never having done this again, to never having touched Bucky, to never having felt Bucky snatch the breath from his lungs again, over and over and over -

The kiss deepened, escalated, and for a wild moment he thought about snatching Bucky up and fucking running, to disappear entirely, consequences be damned. Fuck his enemies, fuck the Avengers, fuck his life and whatever remained of it without Bucky. He thought he tasted blood from Bucky lips and whether it was real or imagined he couldn't stand the thought of it, the unstomachable possibility that Bucky might bleed for him - that Bucky might bleed  _ because  _ of him.

It was entirely cruel.

He slowly broke the kiss, pulling away just enough to notice how he had been tangled with Bucky, drawn in to Bucky’s side like he'd been made that way. It was still unbelievable how easily they fit together.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly, his lips still against Bucky.

Bucky bent his head to Steve’s, his fingers light against Steve’s jaw. "I could love you if you let me," he whispered, and Steve felt a tremor of something dangerous race down his spine just as the sound of the door opening behind them had him stilling.

" _ What the fuck is this _ ?"

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, turning to find Murdock staring at him. 

"Matt," Bucky called gleefully, waving at him.

Steve said nothing. Murdock’s eyes narrowed.

"Get in the hall, Rogers," Murdock spat furiously. "I want a fucking explanation."


End file.
